Beauty is Beast
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: "He was warned not to be deceived by appearances." During a ball held for the prestigious son of Lord Malfoy in the wake of his coronation of the sacred twenty-eight, Hermione Jean captivates the interest of Draco Malfoy and a romance blossoms between them but at a startling price. Beauty is not what it seems. Romance; Drama; The Beauty and the Beast reimagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry potter nor The beauty and the Beast. They belong to J.K. Rowling and_ Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve respectfully, and no profit is made from this work of art.

 _As always, enjoy._

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 _.~._

 _Beauty is Beast_

 _Chapter One_

 _.~._

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 **Beauxbatons Academy of Magic Pyrenees, France**

 **September 27th, 1746**

There was a particular scene in _Dante's Inferno_ that kept the young woman agreeable. It was the raging lake of fire that truly terrified her to no end, though her imagination beseeched her. Was it the bedridden storm, or the agonizing cries of lost souls searching for a way out, she could not say; however, she did not imagine it to be quite like this: With a wooden board pressing dangerously into her back, a tower of books atop of her head, shoes that pinched her feet, and the abhorring, dreadful woman keeping watch of them in the background, she was not submissive to the impression of exploitation. She knew not of the true horror that it was. It was _not_ the justice of the cruelty itself, but the _injustice_ that they were being subjected to it. The girls of Beauxbatons, the House of Rouerie and Cossu in question, were amid a very important lesson, one of which none of them have been able to grasp. With every tender touch of their feet, fluid movement of their arms, their books fell and landed on the polished floor of the Dining Chamber. The girl's anguished cries as their practiced minds and clever remarks echoed in the hall as they scrambled to right themselves.

All except one, of course.

Hermione Jean epitomized the very idea of patience, though her mind raced with impenetrable need to confine to such a small stature. Her back was killing her, her legs ached with exhaustion, and her chest rose sharply with shortened breaths, but she did not dare take more than necessary in fear that her lungs would collapse. Each one could very well be her last. All in the hopes of perfecting one's poise and balance whilst walking, she supposed. But, be damned! Ballroom dancing was not an easy feat to perfect; even as someone as scholarly as her was having an admirable hard time walking in a straight line, though she kept her composure to a minimum. Dodging the commands of the magick that followed did not make any easier. She could not say the same for her fellow girls, who resigned to cheating and bickering as they walked as a form of relief. By any means, it certainly was.

"The Heavens, ladies!" cried their teacher. "Eyes to the Heavens!"

When Madam Hooch exclaimed this, a breathtakingly dry gasp spread through the room. The Madam was an older woman with short, greying hair and with the sort of nose that looked pixie-ish to be considered anything remotely human. Her penchant for rules and lectures had earned her quite the reputation that none of them would dare utter the phrases lest their tongue would be pulled out and sliced from their mouths. Madam would see to it that they did.

It certainly did not help that there was a grand remodeling going on amid their lesson. Their Madam's constant cries for perfection did not help, either.

"The Heavens cannot be anywhere but the sky!" the beloved matriarch of their misery sung. "Heads up, back straight!"

This ought to have been enough incentive for the young women to forge ahead; however, if one were to listen past the judgmental praise of her words, they would learn that it is not all as it appeared.

The circle in which they have been thrown in, or perhaps earned through penchant, was raging. Hermione could almost feel the gallant lake of fire scorching her very skin, the heat to which burned like a thousand flames.

Because of such torment, or lack thereof, their concentration wavered and one by one they all stumbled and fell. All but a selected few were saved from such embarrassment.

"Oh…not again." whimpered one poor girl as she desperately tried to adjust herself. Her beautiful tresses in disarray, as well as their costumed light blue dress. They all appeared in such condition, a result of what seemed like hours of practice. "What are we to do? We cannot be expected to master this art in such a short amount of time. What of our suitors? What of our practices?"

Murmurs of desperation weaved between the girls.

"We must keep practicing," said another, disdainfully unresolved. They all stood, once again moving in one fluid form. With a wave, their books righted themselves and they flew into formation. Their movements would be breathtaking if only they could learn how not to oppose one another with their lurid retellings. Months of preparation and no improvement has been made whatsoever. Their Madam was growing increasingly concerned about their lack of discipline. If only they yielded such a thing.

"I cannot seem to keep these commendable books on my head!" cried another as she desperately attempted to adjust the fallen volumes. As the others, she managed to take several steps forward without fault before faltering like a demure animal. When she stood back up, she resolved to say, "Must we carry such impossible vessels upon our heads? It is giving me such a sharp pain in my back! Such ridicule _must_ be frowned upon somewhere?"

As she said this, several of them knocked into her awaiting form, causing their books to tumble in their wake. They all fell into one tremendous heap. All of them groaned in unison until the managed to pick themselves up once more.

"Why on earth did you stop moving?" cried one girl.

"Madam will be furious if we cannot accomplish what she has set for us to do."

A cadenza of forlorn laments coursed like a living pule throughout the room. The patron of such debauchery was a girl that went by the name of Winnie. Short for Winifred. Though, she preferred not to go by either one. She insisted like a cure that the Madam only made them practice etiquette as to prematurely damage their bodies before they could marry and give birth to many children. It was an abominable dream, even though she was one of the few who did not see marriage and children as the privilege as it was. She was quite the romantic, however. Always going on about finding a wizard that would suit her. Though, no one has yet been able to claim the beast that she was. Thus, the atrocious petticoats and layers of wire that formed their fashion. She was not a contender to it, either. She was just as loathing towards the boards that strapped their backs as the rest of them were.

Another girl in line was quick to offer her resentments. The lesson was not going as planned for any of them, and with each pressing minute, they found it harder to keep the books atop their heads and their backs aligned and parallel to the wall. They railed together once more. In tow, they managed to walk several kilometers before an unmistakable step was made, causing the girl at the end to bump into the girl in front of her. It was a master domino effect. Books fell and groans pulsed throughout the room. One of them seemed to have forgotten the number one rule, and that was no wands shall be permitted outside of class. It was strangely unladylike to do so, even in this time.

"I say," whispered one girl, sitting up and looking at her friend with anxiousness," put that away before Madam sees it."

"I do not see a problem."

"Do you _wish_ to get caught?"

"What if she decides this time to keep it?" another chimed in courageously.

"Or, _worse_?"

A collective gasp brought on a new age of terror. Madam Hooch was known to be punishing, but never in their wildest dreams did they believe she had the heart to _destroy_ what made them unique.

"She is not going to break it."

The girls knew not to trust that blatant lie.

One girl in particular was having a damn of a time keeping her wits at an arm's length. Even she, as impeccable as she was with emotions, could not contain her anger when she reached into her petticoat, grabbed for her wand, and unlaced the board strapped to her back. Another had done so, pointing to the books as if their teacher would not notice the trick. The idea was to keep the illusion that she was walking and the books would stay without the slightest of care. The remaining girls looked at her with admiration, and some with disgust.

"I have had enough of this!" Ginerva Weasley shrieked. She was a girl of short-temper, and someone that Hermione found great patronage given if she could keep her mouth shut. She learnt quickly, though once thought feeble, she was quite the catch. With hair that held such fire, eyes such declaration and withdrawal to the regular demands of their world, Ginny was charming. "How can we be expected to walk in formation when our end girl has two left feet?"

"I beg your pardon?" the girl who had caused them to trip over themselves. "It is a condition." She hissed. "You would do very well to remember that, Ginerva."

"As is idiocy," the red-haired girl said with venom in her voice, unfazed that she used her given name despite knowledge of how much she hates it. "But, you do not see me parading around and making a spectacle of that, now do you?" Hermione looked at her from afar, practicing the lesson that had been given to them quietly. She was very much inclined to practice by herself, even if the board did cause her some discomfort. As a few of the older girls, they did not pay much to the conversation, or the girls in question as they bickered.

"It is not my fault that the books will not stay!"

"Nothing ever is your fault is it, Nymphadora?"

A kind of sizzling noise came from her. As they looked on with interest, her hair began to change, along with her temperament. Once a nice shade of light brown was now the exact hue of a blooming petal during the first caress of spring. Nymphadora was a Metamorphmagus, a liberty she took in the most inconvenient of times. Drawing such conclusions, Hermione looked at her with wonder, having seen her in all sorts of personas, but none like the one she represented as such.

"Do _not_ call me Nymphadora." she said in a low hiss, the sound carrying deathly around the room.

"Oh, do forgive me!" Ginny giggled mischievously. "Maybe if you could keep yourself from _falling_ after a couple of steps, maybe I would be inclined to _remember_ what ghastly name you have procured for yourself."

Nymphadora emitted a scandalous sound under her breath, picked up her stack of books without a word, and proceeded to walk as if her words had not bothered her. She was indeed determined to prove her wrong.

They watched on with competitive silence. Each of the girls long forgotten their tasks, and were now speculating the outcome of the display that moved before them. When she first took the step, a great part of Hermione knew that she would falter. She was simply not equipped to walk as graciously as Madam Hooch would like, and would ultimately make a fool of herself even at the end of every turn. Even at the age that she met her, the girl could not tell one foot from the other, much less wave a wand in the intricate manner that maigck needed to manifest. She doubted that she held that potential, even now. Holding a breath of her own, Hermione watched. It was only then when she began to walk across the hall, one terribly nervous foot in front of the other, that she realized that perhaps she was far more capable of walking with ease.

That is, until she made a miscalculated step, stumbled to catch herself, and she plummeted to the floor like an angel to the depths of hell, shattering any remains of a valiant discovery.

The noise was devastating.

One by one, the books landed with a loud _'thump,'_ some more louder due to their weight. Nonetheless, it was quite daunting. The girls looked at her with pity and some even stopped what they were doing to help her. Others gazed upon her with the pretentious glare that would rival their Madam.

Ginerva was a nasty little sorcière.

Whom found amusement in the older girl's downfall, the youngest of the Weasley's burst out in blissful laughter, quickly alerting the attention of everyone in their parliament, even the eldest of the House.

"Vat es ze meaning of zis?" she appeared before them in a furry of their iconic baby blue. Fleur Delacour came to them like a dream out of a fairytale. It has been said that she hailed from a creature known as the Veela. Mystical within its own right, she could stare deathly into one's eyes and have them do her bidding at a simple command. Her potent ancestry gained her mockery, as well as animosity. Being a fraction of what the Law deemed normal was frowned upon. She was incredibly well off to have such alliances and friendships among Beauxbatons to merit her leniency despite the constant trouble brought on by her birth. "Ze Madam will hear!"

"We apologize, Madam Delacour." one well-off girl pleaded. "It is all Ginerva's fault! She insulted Nymphadora!"

The native beauty looked between the two girls, assessing their worthiness for fruitful redemption. Ever since stumbling upon each other during the Arrow Ceremony and being elected as each other's roommates, they have grown to despise each other with the sort of animosity Hermione has only come across in literature.

…And it was quite the imposing statement to make. This magnificent decree was set in stone. There was no doubt in her mind that their treatment of each other had been forged by the Fate's themselves, declared by the Heavenly fathers across all nationalities and religions.

Hermione executed perfect composure.

She watched with the same trepidation that drawn over all the girl's hearts as they stood witness to their fiery acts of rebellion.

Attraction like this was known to be deadly. It was only a matter of time before they collided and all hell, as she imagined vividly in her mind, was set loose. If anything, to compare to this kind of hell was considerably different to the one in the _Inferno_. Whatever the cause, may God have mercy on their souls.

"Must you two fight every time lessons are held?" asked Hannah Abbott, a quiet young woman with the birthright of a young flower. She has been their mediator, their voice of reason as long as she could remember. In the whispers of her mind, Hermione did not believe for one moment that anyone else was more capable, or even more qualified than Ms. Abbott.

The girl dropped all her ambitions to restore order to their small gathering.

"Yes, must you?" agreed another, the young girl by the name of Lavender Brown. She wore an expression of absolute disgust. With a fair ribbon keeping her hair at bay, the sharply tongued girl looked at the two as if she was about to disrespect both with her choices of words. She was not known to hold back her words, either. Hermione watched in solidary fear that she would berate them, and they would not be able to hold their tongues and wands either. "Can we not get through one _blasted_ lesson without you shooting hexes and tripping each other?"

" _I did not trip her_!" hissed Ginerva with vehemence. "That clumsy oaf-"

 _Watch what you say to her, you little bête!_

"I did not suggest that you did." Lavender said calmly. "I am merely bringing it up because you have done so in the past. Now, why do we apologize to one another so we can finish our lesson? I am growing tired of these boards. The quicker we master the monstrosity that is ballroom dancing, the quicker we can adjourn outside and enjoy the ray of sunshine before it dwindles away."

Ginerva seemed to take her words to consideration, though the daunting task of apologizing to Nymphadora was far more adequately from her mind; it seemed that she would not subject herself to such things, even on the rare occasion that she felt furious emotion for the expulsion of the girl's tragic misgivings. Hermione knew she would come around eventually. Time was indeed long.

"I suppose you are right, Lavender." Ginerva muttered minutes later. "But, do not think for a second that this is over you little-"

"Enough," decreed Hannah scathingly as she moved swiftly across the room. "I will not stand to see you two fight and disrespect the founding mothers of this school. Either make peace or be gone!"

Ginerva looked at Nymphadora with the most detestable expressions but said nothing. As the scene calmed, the girls recuperated and reflected upon their situation with worry.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I say we just stop for the day." The same girl whose body laid sprawled on the immaculate floor of the hall suggested. Winnie, as flowering within her own merits sighed as the rest of them that have given up hope. "Madam Hooch cannot expect us to have mastered this technique before the end of the month. If none of us can, I suppose there will be no welcoming ceremony across the three great wizarding nations."

Several girls joined her.

"We cannot," another said with depression. "It is expected of our academy as host to perform flawlessly. How would it make us look if we cannot even execute the simple steps of our dance?"

"We forfeit any privileges to imprudence. I would rather halt all activities until such a time presented itself where we can perform without fault, than perform and make complete fools of ourselves." This polished statement was exemplary flattering. It merited even the slightest of junction of truth. To this, the girls agreed not to continue no more. Having found this freedom, they tossed all reservations aside and refused to partake in it anymore.

"Ladies!" came the voice of Madam Hooch as she raced over to where the girls stood. "What has caused this distressing halt?"

"Our inability to perform," muttered Hannah carefully. "We cannot perform these vile steps. It is too much."

"You have demonstrated time and time again the-"

"We know, Madam Hooch." said the alleviator imploringly. "But, we cannot."

One by one they scrambled to recollect their thoughts. All their books lay in a tattered pile, some boards have been removed in dire hope of alleviating the mounting discomfort brought on by standing in a presentable posture. Madam Hooch gave each and every one of them a pointed look before, she too, reached for her wand and vanquished the reprehensible boards back from whence they came. Thus, concluding their lesson.

"I think," the woman began in a hauntingly slow voice," that the lesson has long since concluded itself. I do wish to know what brought this on. For centuries, the Academy has been able to produce extraordinary witches. Why is that you cannot accomplish such a simple task as our dance?"

"Because it is too hard!" chimed the girls.

The Madam seemed to take this into consideration, and with a perfectly sensible address, she suggested something that might pacify their woes. "Why do we not join in on the last hours of sunlight before we all gather for supper?"

"Must we?" a sadden voice asked. "I do not wish to go outside. I am oh so sore!"

"I am not asking you to leap through rings, Ms. Abbott. I simply wish for us to indulge in some well-deserved sunshine. Though dwindling, I suppose a bit of a blush to our cheeks will not hurt, either."

Most of the girls seemed to agree, given the fact they spent the last three hours doing her bidding under the watchful eye of her critique. Even the Madam seemed discouraged by the mention of venturing outside.

"Do you not wish to hone your abilities?" She meant taking another lesson in art.

None of the girls wanted to be the one to refute the fact that they would rather continue their etiquette lessons than go outside and draw. Though, one was irrefutably more favorable than the other. In the end, they all agreed to go out and find solace in the fact that their etiquette lessons have reached their premature end. Perhaps with the permanent state in which it was, they would not have to perform it again for a withstanding amount of time.

"I do not wish to be subjected to such humiliating address." Hannah whispered as they came together to gossip. "I do not know what I hate more. Being outside or having to walk with stacks of books upon my head."

"I say the latter."

Hermione could not suppress the giggle that had resonated deep inside her chest. Upon hearing it, all the girls turned toward her, curious as to what she found amusing. Ever since her arrival, she had been the centre of gossip and lure. All because she came to them without cause. One day such as this one, her arrival made headwind and she has always been the peculiar foreigner. It was a tale they constantly wanted her to retell, and something she has grown to distantly wish never happened. Hermione held her breath, wondering what the girl would do.

"What is amusing?" asked Ginevra, all hostility gone. She held the curiosity that was instilled into them like a torch. The deep brown orbs of her eyes looked at her accusingly.

"I do not wish to relate," she told her simply.

"Your amusement intrigues me. Pray tell, what has gotten you so agreeable?"

Shrugging her shoulders as she assembled herself after the long lesson, Hermione looked away and said nothing. Allowing them the merits of guessing, she summoned her shawl and simply went about her business as if she could not hear what they were saying about her. Leaving the Hall and gaining entrance to _Jardin à la Française_ , the enchanting gardens of the castle to which she found refuge time and time again, their whispers began to bother her.

Once all the girls descended from grace, Hermione collapsed on the floor. To this, she had time to reflect upon her own sentiments.

Placing a hand on her chest, she thought.

Indeed, the idea of hell was a considerable thing if one got to thinking about it. As she rubbed her sore legs, a thought occurred to her. Granted, she believed all portrayals of it in the _Inferno_ was were all but misfortunate interpretations. The real hell was already among them. Hermione could easily agree that the circle seen today in the hall and the scornful rivalry of women and hideous nature of one's heart came close to what she knew was purgatory.

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 **Quick Historical Notes:**

Louis XV was a monarch of the House of Bourbon who ruled as King of France and Navarre from September 1st, 1715 until his death in 1774. He succeeded his great-grandfather Louis XIV at the age of give. Until he reached maturity in 1723, his kingdom was ruled by Philippe d'Orleans, Duke of Orleans as Regent of France, whom was Louis great-uncle, as well as his first cousin twice removed patrilineally. Cardinal Fleury was his chief minister from 1726 until the Cardinal's death in 1743, at which time the young king took sole control of the kingdom.

Henry II (French: _Henri II_ ; 31 March 1519 – 10 July 1559) was a monarch of the House of Valois who ruled as King of France March 31st, 1547 until his death in 1559. The second son of Francis I, he became Dauphin of France upon the death of his elder brother Francis III, Duke of Brittany in 1536

As a child, Henry and his elder brother spent over four years in captivity in Spain as hostages in exchange for their father. Henry pursued his father's policies in matter of arts, wars and religion. He persevered in the Italian Wars against the House of Habsburg and tried to suppress the Protestant Reformation, even as the Huguenot numbers were increasing drastically in France during his reign.

The Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis (1559), which put an end to the Italian Wars, had mixed results: France renounced its claims to territories in Italy, but gained certain other territories, including the Pale of Calais and the Three Bishoprics. France failed to change the balance of power in Europe, as Spain remained the sole dominant power, but it did benefit from the division of the holdings of its ruler, Charles V, and from the weakening of the Holy Roman Empire, which Charles also ruled.

Henry suffered an untimely death in a jousting tournament held to celebrate the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis at the conclusion of the Eighth Italian War. The king's surgeon, Ambroise Paré, was unable to cure the infected wound inflicted by Gabriel de Montgomery, the captain of his Scottish Guard. He was succeeded in turn by three of his sons, whose ineffective reigns helped to spark the French War of Religion between Protestants and Catholics.

 **Magical History Notes (according to J.K. Rowling):**

 **1741:** Dilys Derwnt becomes Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

 **1743:** Gideon Flatworthy leads the extremist anti-Muggle group, the Accionites. After being pursued by Goblin goldsmiths from whom they had stolen, the group hide in a remote cave in Pembrokeshire. Disillusioned with Flatworthy's leadership, the Accionites abandon him in the cave where, perhaps driven mad by hunger, on September 18, he would Summon an entire farm, crushing him to death beneath cattle and haystacks.

 **1743:** The forty-ninth Wizarding Schools Potions Championship is held.

 **1743:** The Daily Prophet begins publication

 **1747:** Albert Boot is elected Minister for Magic to replace the recently deceased Eldritch Diggory

 **1749:** A breach in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy involving Vampires is contained, and safety concerns are met with new laws.

 **Note:** I imagine that Fleur and Tonks would have a hard life given the circumstances. If it took years for the Ministry to give rights to creatures such as elves and fairies, I can't imagine what kind of scorn one would face if they were anything but… _pure_. Ginny will not represent the hateful person that is expected with Pureblood families. I fully intend writing her in a giving light that she deserves.

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 **Houses of Beauxabatons:**

 **Note: None of the information borrowed in this fic is owned by me.**

 **Adora Rouerie** was very intelligent and clever. She was into more the traditional side of things. Most of the students in this house have her traits and can be found with a book in their hand and a smile on their face. Though people in this house appreciate the traditional side of things they also like to have fun. During the day, they can be found in the courtyards reading a book. While later that night they could be the life of the party. House colors are blue and green and the house animal is the peacock.

 **Boden Sournois** was arrogant. He was vain and scornful of "lesser" people. Meaning bloodlines. You will mostly find pure-bloods in this house, though some aren't. Though these students may seem to be the "popular" ones they aren't always the nice ones. Though there may always be a nice one in the bunch. Some great wizards have come from this house, but so has from the other houses as well. They can be found at a party, but are usually the ones pulling the pranks and causing trouble. House colors are black and red and the house animal is the raven.

 **Jocelin Cossu** was very creative. She always inspired people and always had many great ideas. The students in this house can often be seen drawing, writing, and anything else creative in their free time. Rest assured when hanging with one of them you will be having fun, but in an original way. They are usually the ones that help set up the party, but it doesn't mean they're not there somewhere having an intimate discussion with someone. House colors are light blue and white, the house animal is a pure white cat.

 **To read more:** olympemaxime. Proboards dot com/thread/ 46168#ixzz 4hK2UbddE

 **Note:** There had been another website I visited while researching the Houses of Beauxbatons. Ultimately, I decided to use the above information in this work. If you are interested, please feel free to check it out in the website below:

Beauxbatons academyx. weebly dot-com/

 **Note:** What I found interesting was that instead of a sorting as tradition in Hogwarts, students shot an arrow and whatever color it depicted once it exploded, that was the house you belonged to.

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 _ **Last, but certainly not least**_

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 **The real Beauty and the Beast (which this story was the true inspiration for this work):**

Petrus Gonsalvus and his wife Catherine met in 1500s France. Petrus Gonsalvus was born in 1537 on the Canary Island of Tenerife, the largest of Spain's seven Canary Islands off the coast of West Africa. He does have connections to French royalty. At a young age, Gonsalvus was treated as an uncivilized curiosity. The hairy "wild man" was captured and put into an iron cage. For food, he was given raw meat and animal feed. He was shipped to King Henry II of France as a gift for the king's coronation in 1547.

Fortunately, King Henry II did not see Gonsalvus as a freak that should be kept in a cage. The king recognized Gonsalvus' calm demeanor and decided to try an experiment. He would attempt to educate and transform him into a gentleman. The king allowed him to keep his birth name, Pedro González, but only if he used its Latin form, Petrus Gonsalvus. The boy was given clothes and cooked meals. He was taught to speak, read, and write in not just one, but three languages, receiving the education of a nobleman. The royal court was impressed and his social status rose. Yet, most still viewed him as less than human.

The real Beauty and the Beast met after Gonsalvus' mentor and protector, King Henry II, was killed in a jousting match on July 10, 1559. Gonsalvus became the property of the king's widow, Catherine de Medici, who became ruler and decided to conduct her own experiment with Gonsalvus. She wondered what would happen if her "beast" married a beautiful woman. Would they conceive little beasts? She found a wife for Gonsalvus, a young maiden also named Catherine, who was the daughter of a royal court servant.

Petrus Gonsalvus met his wife Catherine for the first time on their wedding day. The pair had seven children, with four of the seven suffering from their father's condition, hypertrichosis. This delighted the king's widow, who had succeeded in creating a "wild family."

Petrus and Catherine were married for more than 40 years, with Catherine passing in 1623 and Petrus several years prior. There is no record of his death, possibly because he was not considered a human being worthy of a Christian burial, and therefore his death was not recorded. Petrus was last mentioned in the year 1617 at the christening of his grandson, and he is believed to have passed away sometime around 1618. The family's story spread throughout the region, eventually becoming the inspiration for one of the most popular love stories in literature, and subsequently, modern cinema.

Their widely-known story is thought to have inspired Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve's 1740 French fairy tale The Beauty and the Beast. The best-known version of The Beauty and the Beast written 16 years later by Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont, and was geared more toward young ladies than adults. The fashions in the Disney movies indicate that the time period is the mid to late 1700s, which is reflective of the time period of the fairy tale, not of the true story that inspired it.

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 **Author's Notes:** There will be no more poetic prose at the beginning of the chapters. I've come to the point where I'm done dealing with people who aren't inclined to appreciate them, and I no longer care for them. I do hope this adaptation of Beauty and the Beast isn't too disappointing, seeing as I have been researching the real story, marking corresponding historical events, and other meniscal information for the better part of the New Year, and even the months prior. I have NEVER taken greater consideration in a fic until this one.

Was it strange to write Lavender as the sensible one? Absolutely not! Especially when it came to wanting to end the lesson so they all can conclude their most hated leisure and go out and enjoy the remaining hours of the day. I think I speak for all the girls when I say that she is a lifesaver! Ginerva will doubt come to be the strong, reliant best friend of Hermione Jean (I say that because she is under the illusion that she knows not of her mother and father/family). I am pleased to say that I'm loving the direction this work is going :)

Chapter two is well underway. Despite my hectic schedule this coming week, I will try my best to have it up by next weekend.

I'm in the middle of reading The Beauty and the Beast for the first time, and there are so many elements of both depictions that make writing a Harry Potter version of it so fulfilling. This is truly a remarkable undertaking and I'm delighted to say (once again!) that I'm so excited to share this with you! Please feel free to review, if you would be so kind and tell me what you think about the story thus far.

Until next time,

-Carolare Scarletus


	2. Chapter 2

_As always, enjoy_

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.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Two

.~.

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Hermione Jean has come to know two truths. One, the girls of Beauxbatons were notorious for their exploits and immensely admirable talent for romance and that no matter how the courts of the Heavens tried, she could not even begin to attempt such greatness. The second truth was that one simply could not go without practice. She recounted a lessoned she learnt the first instant she set foot on the grounds, and that was the garden was the soul of the estate and that the bushes and grains had ears and eyes of its own and no secret could ever be kept for long. With these gifts, she embarked on her journey and neither has let her down, even after all this time.

The girls forced themselves against the regaling wind and found themselves in the heart of a nasty storm. Though perpetually bright and dainty, the weather had a mind of its own in the small enclosure that was their home. Enchantments and charms that forewarned of visitors were now nurtured by the fundamental fact that it could very well kill them. They took it without stride; any misplaced spell was a welcoming treasure that they would like to unfold. Even one meant to keep them safe.

"I wish they would not put so many up," Hannah said, fixing her accustomed hat. Her ribbons were dancing loosely atop her head. "All this wind and no wonder why the men that come here leave more disoriented than they arrive."

"Perhaps they have seen a vixen and that is why our home troubles them so?" said Ginny devilishly.

"I implore you to get your head out of the gutter!" one of the girls presented her with a punishing look and Hermione had to bit her lip from laughing, saving herself from another execution. And, it was quite the performance to say the least since she found everything the girl did amusing and nonetheless troublesome.

The girls fell silent and they ventured toward the curve of the castle and into the front.

The Jardin a la Française was nestled between the old west wing and the newly renovated entrance to the academy. With variations of handsome plants and flowers, the fondness of the spectacle was highly tangible in the air. It was the girl's only refuge during the hours that the workers came, at crack of dawn, before they departed late in the night. They settled between the vacant space a mile out, and in the early morning they could still see the dying embers of their fire as they slept. Their only regret was that they could not practice their charm on the young men that swarmed their native grounds. It would have been a delight any of them would be too thrilled to partake.

It was not the solemn duty of their Madam to keep them apart for fraudulence, but to keep their wandering inhibitions at a great distance. The workers had duties to complete, and having a constant connection to the throughs of girls was distracting enough. The girls were no better, whom found themselves lost in their activities while they were supposed to be completing their own tasks. When the heat was at its apex, they would discard their shirts and allow them to partake freely from their beautiful bodies. The sculpture of men was a rare sight, and it was on days such as these, with the wind scoring their sleeved arms and chilling their cheeks were the most painful. They only yearned for conversation, something they could easily form with one another. Most days, it would do. However, today, they could not summit to the idea of conversing with the lonely topics of their youth.

Through the long expanse, the girls trailed behind their Madam as they came across the various workers that have dedicated their time and energy to the restore their ruined home. Hearts blessed by the Gods, they showed their gratitude often. With a deep curtsey, the girls greeted their guests and carried on about their business. Their whispers could be heard all the way down the walkway.

Hermione trailed stubbornly far behind the group. Her eyes were casted all around her, taking in the gardens despite the numerous occasions that such beauty was provided for her. She simply could not get over the wonder of it, even if the tourism was limited only to those were to granted access to its flourishing fields. Their gardens only opened for them. When the workers came or the daily rituals of the land were all consuming, they beckoned them to remained at peace. The ferns were their pillows; the canopy their shade, the invisible lake to which only their eyes could see lay right in the middle of the land like an artist distinguished piece. Its reflection fell off and once the sun set and the moon rose, the girls could appreciate all that their world had to offer to them, and pay homage to those who made it possible to be a part of it.

As they walked the expanse, covering more ground than ever thought possible, they came to greet the workers of their Academy, and the caretaker of the men, Mr. Whittle, as short old man with the temperance of a circuit. In all her days, Hermione never once saw the man smile, so much as conduct himself in nothing more than ill manners. It was not until just recently that she saw him capable of another emotion other than anger and the short-tempered man quickly earned him the rightful medal of being two-faced. She never forgot the way he acted even to this day.

Hermione walked awkwardly through the throngs of men. She had the remarkable integrity and intermediate flattery of a novice that some of the men found quite endearing. It was with this knowledge that she learnt quickly not to engage them in any way, no matter how inspiring their conversations took flight. She was a far cry from her sisters and was known to remind them of that.

Many of the girls were fond of provoking the interest of the men who worked to restore their home. With each passing, their heads turned towards their enchanting beings, their eyes doused with fire. It is wildly said that this little act was how mystic creatures captured the attention of their prey before striking and devouring them whole. Far from male contact, some of the girls would do just that if their Madam had not reminded them of their purpose. They kept walking, whispering under their breaths on how cruel their Madam was and how handsome the men were.

Their conversations never went unnoticed, and as time prevailed, their Madam had to remind them yet again to remember where they were and of their standings.

"No more of that nonsense, girls." chastised Madam Hooch. She looked over her shoulders and glared at the men who dared look at them. Fumbling with their equipment, the remaining workers were quick to correct themselves. Those who have been on break quickly got up and busied themselves with going back to work while others disappeared altogether. Their Madam was not pleased and was quick to show that displeasure. "Allow the men to do their duties. They do not need you fawning over them every time they grace us with their presence."

"What if that is our intention?"

"Well, Miss Weasley, I would behoove you to reconsider your choice of venue. Remember that this is a learning establishment, and I am one of the many mentors responsible for your integration into society. No girl of mine will be sullied until after she is married."

"Yes, but must we work during their construction? Their work can be very distracting."

"Just imagine how it is for the men with us always walking around." breathed Lavender dreamily.

The girls giggled at her suggestion.

"Now, I will not condone such words!" cried the Madam. "Keep your mouths shut and your tongues held. If they speak to you, then you may transgress into light conversation. Nothing more, understood?"

"Yes, Madam Hooch." Their words were trained for synchronization. As they continued on, they perfected their practice.

"Very well. Now, we shall adjourn to the gardens. After you, ladies."

"Madam Hooch," a strong voice called to them and they all came to a beautiful halt. "It is a pleasure as always to be in your presence."

The Madam's smile was strained as she came to make the acquaintance of Cormac McLaggen. A common man with a heart of a saint, as Hermione has come to learn, he differed greatly from the rest, and was the close administrator of Mr. Arcand, a willowy man whose French was so horrid that he assaulted Madam Hooch with the usage of some very choice sayings. Cormac, on the other hand, was fluent in several languages and was strongly built with ruffled dirty blonde hair, or the variation the girls would dare suggest their fingers could easily get lost in. With stunning green eyes, he was a jewel that all the girls tried and failed disastrously to get his attention. During those rare moments, she has come to know the man not as a fellow worker but as a close friend. He worked He caught her attention and gave her a gentle smile before setting back to work. She had to look away from the rest as to hide her flushed cheeks.

"Ah, Mr. McLaggen," she greeted him with a smile. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

He returned the gesture," I have come to discuss the plans for your entrance, if you may be so kind to allow me to speak to you."

"Nonsense," she waved her hand unflatteringly. "I shall send my girl's ahead of me and we can discuss the plans. Ladies?"

In a flurry of dissolved giggles, the girls floated away, their eyes roaming over her shoulders albeit their Madam's strict instructions. Once they walked far enough, they let the walls of their inhibitions down and they began to speak in low, unhurried whispers.

"Did you see the funny looking one?" Several of them had linked arms, and were transgressing the passageway ill-manneredly. If their Madam could see them now!

"Or, the newer gentleman with those lovely brown eyes?" asked another. "Yes, I did! Is he not dreamy?"

"I see Sir McLaggen has not changed at all since we last saw him," giggled Lavender with a bashful blush. They were passing through a throng of the last of the men as they rested from hours of long labor. With sinfully decadent smiles, they passed their suitors soundlessly. They all turned their heads to their declaration of play. Some provided them of playful smiles of their own.

Hannah was quick to agree once they were out of their sighs. "Oh, yes." Her flattery had not been taken unnoticed. "Would you agree, Hermione?"

The young girl gave each of them a meaningful look, her breath hitching as she looked forward and ignored their stares. "I do not agree."

"He seems to fancy you greatly," Ginerva's suggestion was grand as it was absurd. "Do you not fancy him?"

"He is only a friend."

"I see that the eye of Aphrodite does not favor you, then." sighed Ginerva fruitfully and Hermione had to bat away the coarse retort that threatened to fall from her lips. "What a shame. Please do not take offense, but I do not think you are suited for such a fine man, Hermione."

"Why is that?" she bit out, being ensnared by her horrid attempts to rouse her. Even though their years of friendship was strong, it was moment's like these that countered the possible demon inside of her. Her nickname was La petite bête, after all. "Why, are you jealous, Ginerva? Have to submit yourself to gain popularity by the workers? I have never seen such atrocious displays, even at the opera. I do hope your acting abilities are up to par, otherwise I do believe our guests will have one grand of a time watching your disrespect yourself with yet another astounding ovation."

"You little _salope_ ," she hissed, earning her a gasp that flew between the girls. All eyes landed on her, though, Hermione was not the least bit concerned by what she said. It was her eyes that betrayed her.

And, to what followed did not shock her, either.

Ginerva's lip curled in the most pleasing of ways," You do fancy him, then."

Hermione was quick to shrug her shoulders, look in front of her and keep walking. The _petite bête_ followed closely behind her. She had grown on her, even if she was a nasty little girl with the penchant for trouble. Ginny was a very kind soul; it was some of her intentions that disturbed her.

The girls walked dutifully down the row of flowers, and a vision was made up for them.

"Admit it!"

"Keep your voice down!" she cried, not fawn of being at the end of her yelling. "I do not fancy him."

"As long as they have been coming here, he has only had eyes for you."

"Oh, yes!" cried another girl. "How is it so?"

She turned to look at them, their eyes pleading in such a way that would not tolerate her silence much longer. They demanded to know. "He is simply a friend," she reiterated, firmly this time. "I would advise you not to speak of him again in my presence."

Ginerva snorted. "She only means to say that she does not wish to hear the rumors that has risen from such an alliance."

This made her stop in her tracks. "What rumors?" she demanded instantly, looking at the feisty red-haired girl intently. "Do not play coy with my, Ginny. What rumors do you speak of?"

"Shall I regale you of their importance?"

"I have grown tired of your trials to elude me. Enough of your riddles, now tell me." Hermione's eyes grew dark.

Ginerva tried her absolute best to conceal the scheming smile that formed from her lips. Her eyes danced with mischief when she finally uttered the words. "He has plans to court you."

Hermione let a gasp slip from her lips and she raised a straining hand to her breast.

"I do not believe you."

The girl merely shrugged. "No one said you had to believe me, my dear."

" _Oh, vous mentez encore, c'est ça_?" her tongue slipped into the native language to which she became accustomed to. "Ginny, I do not wish to be teased."

The girl frowned at the very notion. "If you believe I am teasing you then by all means believe. Now, come. We should not keep the Madam waiting much longer. Let us make haste to the gardens!"

It was then when their precious Madam came back to them and they walked back into formation once more.

The ventured to a passage of a long expanse of heavy canopy. With the lightest of flicks of her wand, Madam Hooch opened the enchantment, and sent the dying buds of spring back into slumber. One by one, as if watching candles being lit, the flowers closed their fan-like leaves to the light and allowed them entrance to their land. Once gathered inside the constricting tunnel, the girls began to whisper once more. As they did, Hermione's thoughts betrayed her. She did not see their fascination in the mundane, though it was the way in which she arrived to them. Foreign to the French fields, she arrived on carriage and with their Headmistress in tow. It was just before the incident that she made her debut. It was afterwards that encouraged such rumors of her being cursed that she found herself without a single inkling of companionship, much like her childhood.

As they walked, another daringly asked, "What did Sir McLaggen want to speak to you about Madam Hooch?"

She looked at her and sighed. "He wished to know my opinion about the front entrance. It seems that it will take longer than initially thought to complete it."

"How long do we have them for?'

"Another year, seeing as our precious fields have yet to be touched."

"Why not simply repair with magical means?"

"And risk the extortion of our community?" said the Madam, abashed. "No, that will not do. Besides, whomever destroyed our entrance did it under dark magic and nothing can restore that. It is best to restore it to a formal glory under the watchful eye of the Ministry than risk harming our own."

The talk of Dark Magic was a sensitive subject for them, and everyone in the Wizarding community. Terrible accidents have been occurring around the world. Just recently, the Ministry had issued several bits of information regarding the infamous wizard Gideon Flatworthy, who led the extremist anti-Muggle group, the Accionites, around the country and fulfilled their legacy with killing and raping innocent Muggles and Muggleborns alike. He has yet to be caught, and the pillaging has only increased during the last decade. To this day, it still sent unwarranted shivers down Hermione's spine.

Gideon was a sadist with the intolerable obsession of casting the population of Muggles where he believed they should be. There was one instant when she feared for her follow villagers, a feeling that has yet to leave her. It had been shortly after she arrived that she began to hear about him. What she was able to obtain was shocking to say the least. She did not wish to cause harm to her own fragile state, so she dropped it in that instant and set on behind the group.

In her own mind as another hour commenced before the entire group grew bored. The topic of Gideon's horrific dance across the countries was enough to set any conversation into a whirlwind of debates and stubbornness that the girls quickly grew to have enough of each other's lively opinions. As if dropping their attention all at once, making sure that their Madam is not watching, they commence to telling stories and fooling about as they always deep in their dire need of entertainment. Their latest craze involved a very well-placed charm to which no one has been able to detect. -Add More/Rewrite-

It was the type of atmosphere Hermione had been praying that would be her escape but found no budding resolution that she so needed. Regardless of the circumstance, she felt at ease and it was precisely the type of thing she was so willing inspiring to find.

"I do believe we are long overdue for another night of eavesdropping, girls," Ginny said, looking at the men tow behind one another after a day's length of hard work.

"Why do you suggest that?" Lavender asked, looking their way along with her.

Ginny glanced at her before licking her lips. "It is a feeling." Then she paused. "Yes, I say around midnight is when we shall raise the heavens. Or, as our dear Madam says as she so willingly says we should look."

"I do wonder what the men have been saying about us."

"Can we not try it right now?"

"And, risk the Madam confiscating it?" Ginny hissed angrily. "I will not have my heirloom taken!"

"'Tis your fault for placing the charm on the thing in the first place, Ginerva. Perhaps you will be more careful with your things next time you decide to ruin it."

The girls spoke of a simple trinket in which her brother's fashioned before her departure to the castle early last summer. Though not a customary provision, she had taken it upon herself to visit her family while some of the girls stayed to bid their time at the estate. Upon her arrival back home, she showed them what she came up with and the rest was history. Her twin brothers were true craftsmen and geniuses within their own rights. It had taken a lot of encouraging to keep it hidden from the matriarch of their home.

"It is so small I am surprised the men have not broken it."

"I placed a strong charm on it!" cried Ginny, astonished by the idea that one of them had the compacity to even think such a thing. As far as they knew, the men were not capable of anything remotely close to their kind and that they were only ridiculing themselves with the lack of preparation regarding privacy. "You speak low of me, Miss Brown!"

"I do not!"

"Then, take it back."

This deathly progression of words was marked by a streak of unfamiliar lightening. The girls looked up and a collective sigh ran through their ranks. As frightfully daunting the weather has become, they were adamant to find the best even in the darkest situations.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Let us seek entertainment with the men," Ginny sounded blessedly incoherent with greed.

"I do not wish to."

"Then, what do you suggest we do?"

Before any of them could speak, another stroke of the creators' brush came to add to the water painting of the sky.

When the time came and the settlement to which they lay became eternally ruined by the prospects of rain, it was with Ginny's intuition that guided the girls back through the secured grooves of the garden without their Madam's knowledge. Sunset was imminent and the approach of the night was a quick one. With only just an hour or two of daylight left for them, the girls hurried up the bridge that separated the main vineyard from the rest of the estate. It fell on a place they called Ruins of the Damned, a spot where nothing grew and ivory statues worn by time sat, all mutilated to some degree, all lay unfinished and heartedly forgotten. Legend spoke of an occurrence of mass deaths, to which the land took the bodies who perished and fashioned the rock in the ground into the misshapen forms they saw today. Not even the bravest of souls ventured there because no one ever made it out alive.

It had been during one stormy, drug-induced night that she ventured down to the same venue with some of the girls from the other two Houses. Upon a dare, they believed her to be a coward, an aberrant composer that did not so much deserved a moment of their time until a state was reached and they tricked her into coming down to the graveyard of souls. They ran naked through the winding maze that was the garden, unknowingly opening herself to the darkness that was true magic. Needless to say, she regretted ever embarking on such a transitional journey and it was with her grandiose decision that she never listen to the repugnant girls ever again.

Hermione could still remember the humiliation that followed the pursuit. Never again shall she relive such a day! As long as God was her witness and magic was the most prevailing element on earth!

To this day, she hardly took part in anything that had to do with disgrace.

"I say we pay homage to our inner Goddesses," Ginny whispered to them, her itch for deviancy tangible in the air. "What say you? Hannah, Lavender?" She supposed it was time to try to raise the souls of the grave with their merriment. If the rain did not stop them, they shall find themselves once again in the clutches of the maze that they once found themselves lost in.

The girl's nodded excitedly before she turned her attention to Hermione and Fleur. "Ladies?"

Reluctantly, they agreed and Ginny let out a delightful squeal that was sure the alert the attention of every that was near. She made them promise that they would attend on the night of her choosing and they agreed.

Once they reached their preferred spot in the garden, a secluded region where no noise reached their ears but the cheerful songs of the birds and the only reach of the sun shone through a blind of heavy green leaves, they sat down and began to take in their scene.

Hermione did not have a talent for drawing. Whether it was the grateful hand of God touching her soul, or one's inflection she could not say. Every time the Madam revealed their lessons, her drawings always came out as something to mourn. For a mundane beauty such as herself, one would have guessed that there was a graceful swan longing to burst out; the same goes with every man, with the spirit of a lion prepared to pounce. She supposed the same concept could be said about art, though, she was utterly convinced that nothing but anger would burst forth until she learned how to put pencil to parchment properly.

The garden provided sufficient inspiration. With its sprawling highs, dark hedges and similar breeding, one would find even the most remote bouts of creativity. Alas, it was not so with Hermione. She found that the prosperous ferns little more than a nuisance, and it was with this sense that she came to sit down, away from everyone else. She summoned her drawing pad and a quill and set to minimal work, only producing the basics of such images only to please her Madam.

Drawing was not her forte. No matter how much she indulged in the art, she could not bring herself to express exactly how she was feeling on the inside. However, literature. That was something she could easily relate to, having found a heart in the very subject as a child in the orphanage she grew up in. Her sisters did not agree. They believed her abnormal interest in such things was unnatural. She soon discovered that she did not care.

"It is a'right." Fleur told her easily, having found her solitude a bit disturbing. Whilst the other girls took to more unapproachable activities, the natural beauty had taken it upon herself to ensure her sanity. Hermione was not completely against her friendly disposition; if only she had a thumb for it. " 'am not good with drawing, either."

"Oh," the girl resented to say. Of course, Fleur was flawless with everything. She executed the technique of shading and outlining tremendously well, even for a woman like her. A deep part of her yearned to be something in resemblance of her. Even for a half-Veela, she was remarkable. "That very well may be true, Fleur, I cannot say that I agree."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Have you seen your drawings?" she asked the daughter of Delacour politely. Her eyes glanced down momentarily, never once astonished to find that her drawing had taken a life of its own. "I do not believe you know the talent that you possess."

Fleur took a moment to glance at her drawing, saying nothing at the suppleness of the landscape in which she had fleshed out. A piece of parchment no less was now sprawling the orchards that surrounded their cozy little school! How she yearned to draw like her. The only needful expectation she has procured was the thirst for knowledge, a subtle difference of which Fleur has been able to obtain for herself. Yet another disagreeable thing she would no doubt mark with expert need in her retaliation to prove other's wrong of her perfection. And, they say she is a child who needs to teach her worth. Others are not as easily flowing with insight about their own being.

"Oh, I suppose you are right. Though, I 'ave no business in drawing. I only do et for ze Madam."

"You could sell your artwork, and yet you shrink at the idea of promoting yourself in such a way."

Hermione felt a sick wave engulf her. The thought was as truly terrifying as it was ridiculous.

It was a very promising gesture. Fleur had talent that women could only dream of, beauty to marveled at, and a character that any book enthusiast would fawn over, and yet, she hid behind the façade that she has carefully been able to piece together. Hermione could only speculate what was going through the older witch's mind, and the prospects were not very entertaining. As she contemplated, Fleur grew quite agitation, and she was quick to discover the reason behind it.

"I can say zat about your studying." quipped the girl. Furrowing her brow, Hermione let he continue before she even dreamt of figuring out what she said. "No one 'as ze knowledge like you, 'ermione."

To this, she blushed. Turning her head, she watched helplessly as the beloved pet of the grounds, a graceful unicorn, took nourishment of the land. Several swarms of birds flew above their heads, their chirpings signaling an end to another day.

It was true that her calling was more based the fictional world of books, but she did not have the right to point that out. Any intermediate fool could see from a mile away of her unquenchable thirst for information, for adventure. Late at night when the flames were completely extinguished, she would take out her wand and cast a longing Lumos against the dark and read to her heart's content in the extensive library that the academy had to offer. Most nights, she would read late into the morning and have to cast a series of heavy charms and spells on herself just to get through the day. It was a very good thing that some days were light, and all their extended days of drawn out activities were sprinkled toward the end of the week, or she would have surely lost all her inhibitions and senses. Fleur was a perfect candidate to her struggles and supported her the best she could through it all. And, what a friendship, indeed!

Ever since her arrival to the Academy years ago, she has been searching fervently for her own beginning. She has only heard faint whispers of what happened to her through the unfortunate tongues of her superiors and housemates. A cruel retelling. She kept her mouth shut in fear of kindling the feeling that was once vanquished through the slip of their tongues. While those days were far behind her, names nearly forgotten by chance, she wondered briefly about the implausible disconnection of what her life truly had been like.

Had she been taken from the orphanage at such a youthful age, what would her life be like now? She could not say, and immediately surrendered the horrid thought from whence it came. Her life was good now. Perfect, suffice it to say that it did not fit. The very word conducted that everything in the world was perfect, and that was not so. As she had slowly been placed back into reality, she found that her sisters had downed their own parchment and quills and were chatting insistently to one another.

Several months had elapsed since they made their last debut. The Academy just recently held a ball in the honor of unity. And, even though the House of Sournois was righteously predominated by Purebloods or the likes, their ghastly reputation has been grossly exaggerated, though partial to the gossip of the Academy. Their beliefs were as true as their feathers- darkly punishing and notwithstanding to the true matriarch of their customs. Hermione had a hard time accepting that. As time prevailed, there were some who became to fear them, and it was with this dealings that the Headmistress concluded that something had to be done about it. The budding Houses of Rouerie and Cossu found themselves at a crossroads, for they did not see the blessing that was to unfold from their unveiling. To say the least, it was unbecoming of their disapproval and they surmised to say that they would have no part of their inauguration.

It was not the first indiscretion, and it surely will not be the last. As the months passed in long musing, she came accustomed to the traditions of the Academy, having opened more than she ever thought possible. The memories of the orphanage were still ever present in her mind, and no day progressed that she did not stop to think about the kind of lives that her fellow children were living. She could not say what possessed her, but she did not have the slightest qualms about leaving, especially knowing what transpired shortly before her departure.

Just weeks after meeting the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, a considerable sum had been deposited into the funds of the orphanage. This anonymous supplier was still beseechingly generous in Hermione's own mind; what she could not grasp was their reason behind such a grand submission and why they found it within themselves to grant their small abode with all the earnings of their industry. England had withdrawn back into a recession for a period, only having revived itself through constant partitions and prayers when the economy was plumped up with a variety of promoters. Needless to say, it had been exactly what the nation needed but it did not appeal to Hermione's better judgement to understand the reason behind such a drawing.

When she left for Paris sometime before her eleventh birthday, she found it in herself to investigate the arrangement. A dear friend of hers had bid her farewell just weeks ago, and it was within her discretion to ensure the safety and lives of the rest of the orphans, even if years of torment permitted that she forget them as she opened a new chapter of her life and discovered herself for the very first time.

"Never forget those who have helped shape you into the person you are today," Ms. Cole had said to her the day of her departure. "You will come to find that those are the most valuable aspects and you would soon lose yourself if you do not commence them to memory."

Hermione did not know then, as she did now, that her words were as true as they could be. And, it was not until the following year that she learned another valuable lesson.

Months later, under the guidance of the Headmistress, she learned another one.

Hermione turned her head and was immediately met with the inquisitive look of her friend. She has always had the ability to read her mind. Another secret talent that the Veela trait hinted, she concluded.

"Why is zat you hide?"

"I am not hiding." Her voice was quick to rise, as well as her true nature. She was never known to be hot-headed, even snide or rude. May the Gods strike her down right then and there if a day ever came that she was every but her rightful self. "I am simply concealing."

"Zen, why do you conceal?" she asked just as stubbornly. "You are talented. Can you not see zat?'

"There are some things that are more important than knowledge, Fleur."

"What is zat?"

She looked at the native, the motion a quick succession before her eyes were drawn back to the gates of the garden.

"Serenity, for one." Her habit of finding fault in the workers was quick to rise. "A place amid the crowd, for another."

There was a myriad of reason that she could list. She chose not to waste any more of the girl's time. Finding the excuse that the silence gifted her, Hermione picked up her drawing utensil and began sketching out the casual object that floated to her mind. In her haste to rid herself of the embarrassment, she did not see that Fleur had forgone her own sketch pad and was looking at her with the upmost convention of interest. She could feel her eyes hack away at her like a virgin stone. Like many of the unfinished works of Michelangelo's prisoners, she will fall victim of her scrutiny, or rather, her unflattering talent of being able to read her mind. Far from the scholar Legilimens, her inspirational ability has conjured more animosity than awe as long as she has known her.

"I wish you would not do that." Hermione finally said after some time. Her drawing was becoming quite the hideous work, and she knew the greatest artist were looking at her and shaking their heads with contempt. "You know that none of the girls like it."

"I do not care if ze other girls do not like it." she drawled slowly. "I cannot for the life of me figure you out."

"There is nothing to figure out. I am perfectly normal. Why do you not drop this hateful conversation and go back to drawing."

"Not until you tell me what is wrong."

"Why has it become so important to you?" she shrieked hastily. "I have never made the acquaintance of anyone who showed this much care!"

"Then, you have not met many people, 'ermione."

"I have met enough," said the floored girl. As admirable as her voice sounded, she did not feel the least bit secure in her words. Fleur knew that. "I know plenty of people," she corrected, embarrassed.

"Ze workers seem to know you very well. Monsieur McLaggen seems to 'ave caught your attention."

"I do hope that you have not paid what Ginny said the least bit attention."

"I 'ave not."

"Then why will you not acknowledge his attention?"

"I just do not believe it is directed at me," the girl hissed agitatedly. A nervous swoon enveloped her and she began to fan herself with the pad of parchment at her disposal. Drawing was far from her mind and the sudden heat was quickly getting to her and she did not know how to deal with the destructive downfall. If had not been blazing with the coming fall's sun, she would have thought rain would provide her with the relief she sourly needed. "Sir McLaggen is only a friend. Why does everyone insist that there is something more going on between us?"

"Is there?"

"No, there is not." She huffed, continuing to fan herself. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"She only wishes for you to admit it," came the teasing reply of Ginny. The girl had the audacity to smirk at her, to which she did not return. Hermione whipped her head around and glared at her. "What would your precious companion think about another male coming to sweep you off your feet."

"Nonsense."

"'Tis true," stated the girl half-heartedly, though something told Hermione that she meant by what she said. "The villagers speak of you and him, you know. 'What a wondrous pair!'"

"'She would make the perfect bride!'" complied another and the two of them threw themselves into the grass, giggling. "Do not look so serious, Hermione. We are jesting."

"Surely," she said through clenched teeth before turning back to her friend. "Is it true? Do they really speak of such things?"

Fleur took a moment to consider her question before turning to look at her with one expression of seriousness. "'ave I ever lied to you, 'ermione?"

She shook her head, for it was true. She has never lied to her. Not even once.

"Must I be the one to tell you how stunning you are?"

Hermione let out a little stunned gasp before turning away, her face shamefully flushed. "Why is so _hot_? Where is the Madam?"

As if born from her request, a sudden downpour of gentle rain came to ruin their happy occasion. With their lesson coming to a complete standstill, the girls railed together and sought shelter anywhere that would lend them a second of protection.

"Hurry, to the trees!" cried the girls as a small droplet of rain touched their foreheads and cheeks. It was only a small downpour of gentle rain, but in this environment, it meant more than the world. They could hardly do a simple repelling spell without worrying who might pay witness to it. So long as the men worked on the grounds, they had to do with the little pleasantries that had until they were finished.

"The rain would come to ruin this day…" mumbled Hannah dejectedly. "I suppose you forgot to look at the forecast for this week, hmm, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny sent the girl a daringly hateful look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, when we were all so busy with worrying about Gideon's march across Europe, none of us had the grace to look at the Prophet's prediction for this weeks' weather."

"You do know that the Prophet is a load of rubbage, yes?"

"Not when it saves your favorite dress from the deceitful clouds of autumn."

"Will you just drop it?" Ginny almost yelled. The birds above rustled in their protected homes. "It was not my fault what happened to your stupid dress."

"No one said it was, Ginerva." Hannah said soothingly. "I simply wish not to have someone else ruin yet another one."

It was upon this instigated that Ginny whipped out her wand from the secret compartment of her dress, pointed it at the girl, and murmured a simple water spell on her. In an instant, Hannah was drowning in a downpour of heavy rain that soaked right through her dress, matting her hair to her forehead in dark strands. Her beautifully pinched cheeks and vibrant colors were now running in thick rivers down her cheeks. She looked absolutely deplorable!

 _The poor girl, provoking Ginny like that_ , Hermione thought.

Hermione tucked herself more securely against the wooden beam. The wrath of her has been awoken.

…But, it was this exact moment that their Madam chose to present herself, reprimanding Ginny for what she did. As she tried to find solution in her lie, Madam Hooch grabbed her by her elbow and marched her toward the entrance, thus ending their lesson, seeing as the rain has come to end it prematurely.

"Now that we have closed the gates, let us commence to the Great Hall." she said, looking frightfully exhausted. The day's events had taken a toll on them all.

"Our lessons are finished?"

"Quite so," their Madam made a showcase of fanning herself. It _had_ been oddly hot out in the garden. It reminded Hermione greatly when she first learned about her world. First, beginning with the culture of the Academy's Houses, to which sparked a daunting memory only troubled by the topic of their last departure. But, it was this disastrous rain that was cause for alarm. "Alas, another day destroyed. This way girls; our home awaits with welcoming arms."

When this instruction was given, they scampered out of the way and back up the rolling hill and to the side department of the castle. The girls made their way back from whence they came in solemn precession. One after another, they filed through the tunnel in which they traveled to get to the world of wonder before watching as their Madam closed the formidable gate from prying eyes. There, as if taking cover from the roaring sky as they raced to get to the safety of the veranda, the found amusement. It was there that they saw their hero.

Before any of them could prepare themselves, a beautiful bird flew overhead and the girls let out a startled cry. Hands, as if trying to capture the beast, flung up in the air and it was only then that their Madam put a stop to their public displays of raillery.

"Stop it this instant!" she cried desperately. "We are still in the public eye!"

"But, it is the Daily Prophet!"

"We must read about what is going on!"

Madam Hooch gave the girls a curious look before sighing. With a simple command, she gathered the bird's attention and it landed securely on her outstretched hand.

Though still a fresh conception, the Daily Prophet has become a quite popular means of communication. And, with what was happening all around Europe with the robbery and pillaging, the girls were desperate to know where the Accionites were causing harm. For such a notorious group, the Ministries were finding it hard to keep up with their antics. Ginny once observed a singular gap between one incident and another, one that Hermione found peculiar and the all the more alluring. For someone who did not know her own birth parents and grew up surrounded what she would later find out were Muggles, she feared not only for her safety but for theirs as well.

As the girls snatched the paper and read it aloud, she pulled back from the reception and tried to block out much of the information that the Ministry has been able to gather.

"Thirteen dead in Reine, Norway," murmured Hannah gently before looking up to contemplate. "Why is it that he would move his forces that far North?"

"Given if you paid attention in your studies or the last edition of the Prophet you would know that the mountain trolls dwell there," hissed Ginny, snatching the paper away and wringing it from the other girl's hands. She read a few paragraphs and scrunched up her features. "It says that 'Gideon was spotted somewhere in the mountainous region in Italy before Apparating swiftly before anyone could really confirm that it was him. Eyewitnesses say he was accompanied by two large statures before disappearing completely from sight, the large creatures in tow'." She placed the paper against her lap and looked up. "Why, I will be!"

"It is quite the opposite of what we were hoping for," a forlorn voice said afterwards. "I suppose he will never be caught, then?"

"Must be continue to live our days in fear with this madman running around?"

If only he was the true conspirator of the entire ward. Hermione watched dishearteningly at the concerned expression of her sisters. As their trip to the gardens grew to a close, she wondered what on the bountiful face of the earth Gideon was planning, and whether or not there might be a helping hand behind all the casualties. It was ones domination that fed the evil in the world, and that was a true conception if Hermione ever knew one.

"Ladies," their Madam stepped in then," I assure you that the news of Gideon's betrayal is quite displeasing. But, allow me to reassure you that we must have trust in our Ministry."

"That is a prosperous notion!" cried a girl as the others nodded their heads in agreement. "This… this _animal_ is slaying all of creation and for what? To rid the world of the impurities it sustained from this supposed flood? I cannot idly sit by and place my trust into anything when our dear Minister has not done a thing to stop him! He had been cornered in that cave in Pembrokeshire before finding refuge in his own cowardice, Madam Hooch. It would do you well to remember that."

A lively debate if one was drawn to such extremities.

Madam Hooch gave the unforgiving girl a look of pure abomination before faltering in her own uncontrolled nature. Her eyebrows knitted together in worry; her expression turned grim and her girls looked on at her with needless hope and patience adorned by her years of servitude.

"You make a valid point, Miss Lavender. However," she looked at them squarely in the eye before continuing," I have faith in our Ministry and Eldritch Diggory. Anywhere else would be a horrid sin and I will not have my likelihood and the reputation of my girls be tarnished by some unconceived principle to which we were not founded by. Girls, if I have learned anything in my time is that if we stand together we will not fall for anything. Yes, there might be deaths. We might lose ourselves and those who we hold dear, but the end sight is that we do not give up hope and we fight for what we believe in."

There was a mandatory moment of silence that encased them. Enraptured by the feeling, the girls looked upon themselves and to each other and dug deep within their own reservoirs to determine where their loyalties lie. Granted, they were never forgotten, perhaps just mistaken or misplaced, but none them lost sight of what truly matter and it was exactly how their Madam put it.

As the sun dipped below the trees and they gathered their supplies, marching to the beat of their own drums, Hermione had ample time to reflect upon her own vision and the creation that was their world. Although transfixed by the idea that nothing could ever go wrong and no one so lost could do no evil, she really did lose sight of the entertained idea that was salvation. While the girl's doubled in their tracks, she fell short. Her eyes lifted to the horizons and in a single moment, they fell upon a lonesome petal and everything she thought she knew about the world fell upon that single rose.

From her observation and own enlightenment, she concluded that the world was not exactly how it ought to have been made up, and even flowers can be just as deceptive as humans, if not more.

* * *

 **Please note:** My French is not perfect. I took one year of it in Junior High and I would never use any words/sayings that I didn't do extensive research on. If these translations do not match up, please tell me and I will have them fixed immediately. Thank you.

La Petite Bête: The Little Beast, a nickname given to Ginny by the girls of Beauxbatons.

Une salope - A bitch

Oh, vous mentez encore, c'est ça- Oh, you're lying again, aren't you?

The French formal garden, also called the jardin à la française (literally, "garden in the French manner" in French), is a style of garden based on symmetry and the principle of imposing order on nature. Its epitome is generally considered to be the Gardens of Versailles designed during the 17th century by the landscape architect André Le Nôtre for Louis XIV and widely copied by other European courts.

The Garden à la française evolved from the French Renaissance garden, a style which was inspired by the Italian Renaissance garden at the beginning of the 16th century. The Italian Renaissance garden, characterized by the Boboli Gardens in Florence and the Villa Medici in Fiesole, was branded by planting beds, or parterres, created in geometric shapes, and laid out symmetrical patterns; the use of fountains and cascades to animate the garden; stairways and ramps to unite different levels of the garden; grottos, labyrinths, and statuary on mythological themes. The gardens were designed to represent harmony and order, the ideals of the Renaissance, and to recall the virtues of Ancient Rome.

 **Note:** For the purpose of this work, the gardens at the Academy are meant to keep Muggles out (of course), and to keep the girl's that attend in line. Think of it as the Forbidden Forest. Once you go in, have fun trying to find your way back out! It's a labyrinth, despite its simplicity. :)

* * *

 **Historical Notes:** In this work, we find our characters caught in war with Austria. For the sake of events, things have been changed to suit the work. Gideon is still very much alive and he and his extremist group are still at large and wreaking havoc everywhere they go.

 **Keep in Mind:** Hermione does not know of her parents, or heritage. Gideon Flatworthy is the equivalence of Lord Voldemort. (Will he make an appearance in this work- who knows). His views of Muggles and Muggleborns are just as damning as Voldemort's that they could very well be the same deity. As stated in chapter one, he led a group of extremists and died. He was also mentioned to be very fat and overly narcissistic. I will be deviating from that known fact just a tad, so please don't fright!

During this time in 1740, two European monarchs die (Federick William I and Charles VI), which plunged the continent into war. Federick William I, (the "sergeant major") King of Prussia, died on May 31, 1740. On his death, the Prussian throne passed to his ruthlessly ambitious son, Frederick. With the crown, he inherited the most advanced army in Europe supported by a state bureaucracy of unrivalled efficiency, institutions his father had spent a lifetime perfecting. The opportunity for Frederick, soon to be known as "The Great", to use these instruments arose with the second death in that year.

Charles VI, Emperor of Austria, died on October 19,1740, leaving his imperial throne to his daughter Maria Theresa. He feared that the powerful states of Europe would upon his death seize chunks of the empire, expecting that his daughter would be unable to defend her inheritance. He had spent the last years of his life devising the Pragmatic Sanction of Prague, a convention that guaranteed the integrity of Maria Theresa's imperial dominions, and persuading the monarchs of Europe to subscribe to it.

On the death of Charles VI, Frederick tore up Prussia's commitment to the Pragmatic Sanction and seized Silesia, marching his troops into the capital, Breslau, and annexing the rich Austrian province to Prussia.

If Frederick thought Maria Theresa would acquiesce in this outrage, he was mistaken. She declared war on Prussia and invaded Silesia, precipitating the wars that would rage for a quarter of a century. The conflict did not finally end until the Treaty of Paris in 1764 confirmed Prussia's ownership of Silesia.

The first period of fighting from 1740 to 1748 was known as the "War of the Austrian Succession" or in England as "King George's War". Austria and Prussia fought in Silesia and Bohemia while French armies invaded Bavaria. In 1742 the French threatened the Austrian Netherlands, a region ruled by Austria, and the Dutch Republic or the United Provinces. A Pragmatic Army named from Charles VI's Sanctions assembled to counter the French invasion, with troops from Austria and various German states including Hanover.

George II, King of England and Elector of Hanover, resolved to send English troops to join the Pragmatic Allies. Ostensibly the army was to fight for Maria Theresa, but George's concern was that the French intended to pass through the Low Countries and invade his beloved Hanover.

The English force was dispatched to Flanders in mid-1742 and remained there until the end of the war in 1748, fighting the four battles of Dettingen, Fontenoy, Rocoux and Lauffeldt. There was one major interlude from late 1745 to 1746, when Prince Charles, the Young Pretender, landed in Scotland and invaded England with a highland army. This adventure, encouraged and resourced by France, brought the Hanoverian Crown to the brink of disaster and was retrieved only when the Flanders regiments returned to Britain and defeated the highlanders at Culloden Moor.

In 1742, England had not fought a European war since the time of the Duke of Marlborough. In the intervening twenty years of peace, the army had been neglected by governments reluctant to spend money on the armed services.

The first British commander in chief was John Dalrymple, Earl of Stair. He was hampered by the refusal of the Dutch, Austrian and British commanders to co-operate in a plan of campaign. An additional embarrassment was George II's fear of provoking the French to outright war.

In 1743 the Pragmatic Army marched South to the Frankfurt region of Germany. There it was joined by George II and the Battle of Dettingen was fought against the French Army of the Duc de Noailles.

The Pragmatic Army spent 1744 in idleness while the French Army under Marshal Maurice de Saxe overran areas of Flanders.

In early 1745 the young Duke of Cumberland, the second son of George II, became commander in chief of the Pragmatic Army in time to march to the relief of the City of Tournai, under siege by Marshal Saxe in the South West of Flanders. This led to the Battle of Fontenoy.

In September 1745 Britain was rocked by the Jacobite invasion from Scotland led by Prince Charles. Most of the British troops were withdrawn to combat the rebellion.

* * *

 **Titles:**

 **Duc:** possessor of a duchy (duché—a feudal property, not an independent principality) and recognition as duke by the king.

 **Prince:** possessor of a lordship styled a principality (principauté); most such titles were held by family tradition and were treated by the court as titres de courtoisie—often borne by the eldest sons of the more important duke-peers. This title of prince is not to be confused with the rank of prince, borne by the princes du sang, the princes _légitimés_ or the _princes étrangers_ whose high precedence derived from their kinship to actual rulers.

 **Marquis:** possessor of a marquessate ( _marquisat_ ), but often assumed by a noble family as a _titre de courtoisie_

 **Comte:** possessor of a county ( _comté_ ) or self-assumed.

 **Vicomte:** possessor of a viscounty ( _vicomté_ ) or self-assumed.

 **Baron:** possessor of a barony ( _baronnie_ ) or self-assumed.

* * *

 **Ranks:**

 **Fils de France:** son of a king or dauphin.

 **Petit-fils de France:** grandson of a king in the male line.

 **Prince du Sang** ("prince of the blood"): a remote, legitimate male-line descendant of a king of France.[5]

Peer of France was technically a dignity of the Crown (as, e.g., marshal of France), but became in fact the highest hereditary rank borne by the French nobility—always in conjunction with a title (e.g. _"Duc et Pair", "Comte-Pair")._ The peerage was originally awarded only to princes of the blood, some legitimized and foreign princes, often the heads of the kingdom's most ancient and powerful families, and a few bishops. Eventually it was almost always granted in conjunction with the title of duke. Gradually the peerage came to be conferred more broadly as a reward for distinguished military or diplomatic service, but also on favorites of the king (e.g. _les mignons_ ). The peers were entitled to seats in the Parliament of Paris, the most important judicial court in the kingdom.

 **Prince légitimé:** legitimized son or male-line descendant of a king. Precise rank depended upon the king's favour.

 **Prince étranger:** ("foreign prince"): members of foreign royal or princely families naturalized at the French court, such as the Clèves, Rohan, La Tour d'Auvergne, and Lorraine-Guise.

 **Chevalier:** an otherwise untitled nobleman who belonged to an order of chivalry; earlier, a rank for untitled members of the oldest noble families. Later distinction was that a Knight ( _Sieur_ ) went through the dubbing ceremony (touched with a sword on the head and shoulders by the King), while the lesser rank of Chevalier or Knight Bachelor received the rank without the ceremony.

 **Écuyer** (literally: "shield bearer") lowest specific rank in the nobility, to which the vast majority of untitled nobles were entitled; also called valet or noble homme in certain regions.

 **Gentilhomme:** lowest non-specific rank indicating nobility

 **Seigneur:** (" _Squire_ ") term for the untitled owner of a feudal property; strictly, neither a title nor a rank, it indicated that a landlord's property had certain noble rights attached, although properly it did not indicate the owner was noble, especially after the 17th century.

 **Bâtard:** Recognized bastard son of a gentleman or nobleman. They could not usually inherit a title (if any claimants of legitimate birth existed) but could be employed in their father's retinue. Bastard sons and daughters were often married off to allied or subordinate families to strengthen ties or to bind lesser families to them

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I tried so desperately to adequately portray Fleur as she was in the books with her accent. I do hope I didn't fail too miserably. I didn't mean to wait so long to update! Work has been busy and just this past Sunday I literally feared for the loss of my job. Sometimes it's just so hard to please people, and having been struck with the first wave of customers that night, I rudely (unknowingly) spoken to a customer through the intercom during the rush and made her upset. She supposedly knows the owner of the restaurant chain I work at and it's tearing me apart because I know I was at fault and she did nothing wrong, but at the same time I'm just one person and I cannot hope to please every single person that I come across. I'm looking to get promoted and I don't know… T.T

(Sigh)

While I was writing, my cute baby kitten climbed underneath my laptop, finding the space a nice little hideout. She's wearing the collar I bought her last week (I needed it because she is still so small and the bell helps me keep track of her). She's thriving! A happy little nugget :) And happy kittens are the best! cD

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. Chapter three will be considerably longer, and I hope y'all are looking forward to the continuation of this work as much as I am! Draco will soon make an appearance, and I little cannot wait to write him! ( _Insert Fan-girl squeal!_ )

-Carolare Scarletus


	3. Chapter 3

_As always, enjoy_

* * *

.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Three

.~.

* * *

 **September 28- October 3rd, 1746**

Upon first impression, the grandeur of the academy was not subjugated by the simple fact that it lacked all the basics of human nature and it was only under one's speculation that it lay underneath the façade that it adopted. This was one true liberty that astounded her when she first arrived, shaking like a leaf and looking up at the commendable presence as if were worthy of such deduction. It had been before the complete destruction of the front entrance, an almost devastating accident that occurred during one of the girl's lessons that to this day no one knows for sure what happened. Had she not looked up or rescued, she would have been the only casualty, having been saved by an inch of her life by the gargoyle that fell from its stone pedestal.

Days like these marked the occasion. The air was still fresh from another shower of rain as it threatened to drown the gardens and send the land into a frenzied doomsday of floods. Rain was not the least of their trouble as they sat inside, occupied the stretched hour while their Madams progressed through the day with boring tones and lectures that seemed to mold into one continuous parallel. The girls were perpetually dying with boredom and it only punctuated the horrid truth when their one and only visitor was for their Headmistress and they slumped their shoulders in even more grand dejection.

Hermione spent much of her time daydreaming, a habit she picked up from her youth. It was the only thing that kept her from completely losing her mind, as she found in her sisters the task all too appealing as it was easy.

Come the end of the week, a confrontational chill had instilled its iron grip upon the Academy. Rain became the prevailing element over the course of the next few days. Only when they needed sunshine the most did the deceiving peak penetrated the dank clouds to which brought an insufferable forecast over their precious academy. With almost an entire week's work of construction delayed, their Madam had it up to the Heaven's themselves with anger and winter seemed to have arrived early with the frostbit that was felt everywhere. The late evenings of September, despite the early arrival of fall, were always met with furious outburst of frigidness as wands were drawn and warming spells were casted. Never has a time been so impeccably memorable; even her first days after her arrival, Hermione could not remember having to survive such a taciturn autumn. It been just several weeks ago that the nearby villages spent their days celebrating the traditional festival of the Fae. An annual procession that ever since the restoration of the castle the girls have partaken in. It was one of the few commodities that their Headmistress allowed them to enjoy.

 _Festival d'Automne à Paris_ was a celebration held every year during the duration of the fall months. Though, nothing could compare to the handsome festival _Fête de la Nature,_ or rightfully named the _L_ _ux_ _A_ _estiva_ _._ Lavender had been the one to tell her about it. She, along with several of the other girls in her year, had been roaming the same hall she found herself dreaming about now. During such extracurricular activities between one class and another, they had taken her under her wing and told her about the festival.

"Oh, yes." Lavender said with a slightly agreeable tone when Hannah asked her if the gardens were ready. They were deeply engrossed with their current lesson when she asked. "Everything is almost ready for Florae."

"Florae?" Hermione was quick to question, which astonished the girls that she asked. The befuddlement that fell on her face was quite amusing and the girls found themselves laughing at her expense. She frowned at them.

"Oh, dear. It is a Wizarding engagement. Muggles wouldn't know what it is."

"What is it exactly?"

"It is sort of like a ceremony of seasons, if you will." Hannah tried to explain simply. "Muggles have their own traditions, but Wizarding traditions are a bit different. The Florae Pixies are creatures that tend to flowers during the Spring and Summer seasons. They ensure that that are properly planted, reach maturity, and bloom. This year is exceedingly special. It's a once a lifetime chance to fully appreciate the beauty of nature and I thought it would be a great opportunity to gather everyone together and watch it."

"Every century or so," she mused softly. ", the Florae hold a festival to honor their rekindling and the plants of the earth. Not much is known about their other rituals and the yearly seasonal hand-of. The yearly transition of the season is remarkable and anyone is lucky to observe its wonders, but this year happens to fall during a very blissful and extraordinary time. Every thousand years, an Awakening occurs." she had told Hermione with a smile.

"Awakening," another inquired before Hermione could ask.

She nodded as she set to explain the grandeur of the Florae. There is a legend regarding the Florae. In ancient times, they had been revered as Clairvoyants. Mind you, I do not personally believe in Divination or soothsaying, but during those times they were observed in such a way. Florae are gifted with their own mystical powers, abilities that no Muggle or Wizard can do. Many creatures can reach far beyond the Earthly plane and delve into a world that most of us can only dream of. Florae are an exceptional example of that, as you will observe on the twenty-seventh. They can sense things that we cannot; it's one of the things that make them a true spectacle. "

"What sort of things can they sense?"

She huffed silently. "Well, that is where the Awakening comes to play, I suspect. Of course, I have never seen one, and I don't know anyone who is still alive and has seen the last ritual, but we will see it when we observe them during the apex of the _L_ _ux_ _A_ _estiva_ _."_

Hermione became instantly enthralled by the Florae. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if she had reacquainted herself with something that she had no inkling she had lost. Like the twinkling light of the winter sorcery, Hermione's eyes lit up in excitement and awe. Immediately, she began asking her new friends about the Florae, the customs, and if there was anything that she could to make the entire experience more enjoyable. It was the first time since her attack that they saw the spark that they grew accustomed to seeing in her eyes and demeanor. It was as if she truly found herself.

It was a shame that they could not provide any more information on the Florae's summer ritual. Ginny, who had been listening just as keenly, was disappointed that she was unable to answer Hermione's more pressing questions. As much as she enjoyed viewing her usual inquisitive pursuits, Hermione could not help letting her mind wander to the more haunting aspect of the entire ritual: The Awakening. What did it entail? Surely, she would have come across someone who could have given her some type of an insight? A friend, a long distant relative; someone who could clear up that darkening fog that settled around the subject?

As the hour waned, Hermione engaged them into a deep discussion about the Florae, Pixies, and other plant-oriented creatures that dwelled just outside the Academy's threshold. While Hermione listened, she could not help feeling gratified that she was able to break the disheartening silence and distress that had almost permanently settled in the towering abode of their home. It was obvious to her that she had never heard of such an extraordinary specimen and was immediately keen on learning everything that she could before the annual blessing of the season. He was quite taken aback by just how genuinely interested she presented herself, despite the grudges of the last couple of weeks or so. Even she was surprised to see just how well of a wall she had been able to put up in the short amount of time since her arrival and now.

It was the following year that she remembered sitting by the windowsill, rain splattering against the glass. A kind of formidable gloom had been on the forecast, sending the residents of the estate into darken depression. Classes were unbearably long; conversation dull and predictably stall; even the creatures of their home were not frolicking like they used to do. Hermione felt this disturbance weeks before the day. It was a feeling that she would soon not forget.

As she watched the final preparations for the Florae from her spot, she became even more anxious. Every now and then she would see a glimmer in the distance of someone arriving by Apparition or hear the commotion scatter unnervingly across the first floor. It never failed to get her hopes up, but with each guest, her excitement dwindled to practically nothing. She just did not have the energy to get her hopes up and get denied every time she heard the smallest of noise echo from the first floor to the fifth. By the time it reached her, she knew that the caller she wanted to see was not here. Hermione resented herself for her excitement but never failed to surprise her as the fireplace situated in the half of the Academy burst with flames and Headmistress Maxime scrambled to welcome whoever arrived at their home.

This time, Hermione did not bother getting up to see who it was because her heart, as well as her mind, knew that it was not her business. Maybe, just maybe, she had finally stop falling for her heart absurd trickery. When she felt comfortable with herself, Hermione relaxed a bit. Within seconds of making herself comfortable, someone alerted her attention.

Soft murmurs sounded around her and for a moment she lost herself in the conversations of the Academy's guests. The residents of the rolling hills were out playing and dancing; the guests were all enjoying the erotic dances of their kind, their eyes fixated on something they could even begin to understand let alone tough. As she sat there, stroking her precious companion's fur as he nipped at his recent catch, her mind was brought to a darker, more sinister place.

It has been almost two years since she has seen him and every day was marked by his boarding presence. Everywhere she turned, she could feel his eyes watching her, peering into her very soul. His eyes were like a vice she could not break away from and she could not stand the fact that she was hopelessly devoted to submitting to him. He ruled over her very being. Everything she did, she did it almost for him. Her existence revolved around him and as a sick, twisted mockery of her recovery, she was scorned by him. Forever destined to live in his shadow because his family had been somehow connected to the ugly scar upon her arm.

Hermione suddenly looked down, her fingers brushing gingerly against the three marbled bumps. A vexatious shiver went through her as she tried to anchor herself to the world. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Sounds erupted around her from her impairment; who knew that her heightened sense of sound could provoke such a calming response. She could hear everything, feel everything and certainly felt more tuned to the earth.

She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Opening her eyes, she was met with the most beautiful of creatures.

A Florae the size of a small doll came fluttering from the nearby greenery. She wore a beautifully woven dress made of white flower petals and vines that contoured to the natural curves of her body; her hair, long and dark, whipped behind her like a lightning striking the land; her face, as white as the snow that kissed the wintery scene was painted with the most stunning hues of blue and green she ever saw; horns the size of sharp delicate stones that rose from the skin of her forehead, sides, and cascading down in an intricately placed pattern down her chest and arms. A giant trunk-like growth emerged from the middle of her forehead and from the trunk, a glittering light erupted from the dark abnormality.

Hermione sat perplexed as the little thing flew around her, joined by several other similar creatures. They, too, were dressed in the loveliest dresses she ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes upon. Mended from the surrounding growth, she wondered silently if they knew just how enraptured she was by them. Never in her life has she seen anything as enchanting as them; if the creature Hagrid has adopted and rescued over the years could not compare to the magnificent little creatures that flew around her. She caught herself several times craning her head around to get a better look at them.

"Please stop moving," she begged, earnestly. "I just want to see."

"See you shall." Their voices were so sharp and high-pitched that she could have sworn she imagined hearing it until the creatures stopped mid-flight and allowed her to gaze upon them.

Hermione gasped in astonishment at their eagerness to show her. As they did, tiny balls of light coalesced between them in a magically current of aquarelle. A symphony of colors emerged from some mystic land and began dancing around then. Iridescent lights moved around them, provoking what seemed like of the of the most basic forms of natural senses. She was in overload; from the tingling of her fingers and toes to the rapid stance of her heartbeat, Hermione could feel the pleasantly erotic display expel all the anguish that had built up inside of her and rotted her core and soul. One could truly feel at peace once the monstrosity that was their demons were vanquished and casted back into the fiery pit of the Underworld. Taking a deep breath in, she let it out. In a blink of an eye, they were gone.

An imposing need came over her and for a brief instant, she was one with nature. Hermione, dressed as though ready to partake in the splendid dance of her kind, strolled around the garden in a frenzied, ready current. She had never seen anything so extraordinarily beautiful, so uncommonly natural that upon gazing, her chest swelled up with excitement the usual fiery tendencies of her tears soothed her heartache. For a moment, she felt at peace and connected to nature as if were the most commonly known thing in the world. She bathed in the feeling. As the guests of Florae came and went, Hermione found herself drifting further away from humanity and to a whole new realm of existence.

The Fae, creatures of upmost solitude welcomed her with flattering approbation. A sense only known between them, she felt her heart soar to new levels and come back down; her feet planted themselves firmly in the wild grass; her limbs became the branches of trees; her hair bled into the wind. Hermione was one with nature, but all too soon her a truer testament was born from the respectively curiosity that the Florae were greatly known for.

"Oh, do not give me that look." she said, eyeing them as she uprooted herself from her spot and was swept away with the cool zephyr. "It is perfectly within my right to dance. As long as you know how, of course. I do not see the trouble."

The creatures stared curiously at her; Hermione's dancing was unlike the dances that they performed. Synchronized to a soundless tune, she floated around dangerously as if she had been set aflame with vibrantly colored fire. Her passion spoke louder than words could express; she danced, twirled, and leaped until her energy was depleted and she was left a panting, sweaty mess.

Looking around, she discovered what she had been searching for.

A single flower in the mist of bloom, tainted by the abnormity that resided so natural within their world.

Hermione fell to the ground and wept. She could feel the fleeting connection with her friend and as sun came to meet the horizon, she feared that it would soon vanish before she had the chance to redeem herself.

She quietly wept as the creatures tried desperately to console a child of their own kind.

In her hand, the flower wilted.

Another instant that she remembered as if it occurred yesterday was being outside and she had been so caught up by the magnificence of the place that she nearly forgotten her.

"Hermione," a voice called to her from behind.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly in her astonishment. Fantasy fell through the cracks of reality.

She turned to find her Headmistress, dressed in lavish robes and beckoning with her dark eyes to come join her. She did think quite frequently, eluding her even at the most basic of times.

It was when she confronted Madam Maxime that she could find the answers to her imposing questions.

"Walk with me."

She found her where all things seem, within a shadow of a dream. In her brilliance, Madam Maxime was cultivating a selection of flowers with her wand, murmuring blissfully under her breath as to recompense an old-fashioned channel that was her art. Hermione never saw anything so beautiful; the way her hands grazed lovingly over the petals and her eyes twinkled at its expense. It was no wonder that she was so drawn to the nature that was found around them. Breathtaking, that would be the word to would use to describe such a sight.

"How are liking your lessons?"

"They are magnifique!" she exclaimed, almost too readily.

The Headmistress chuckled at her enthusiasm. "I see that the Fae like you."

Hemrione looked to the creatures then back at the Madam.

"They adore you," she told her with an affirmative nod, watching as they all kept their distant, but watched her with keen protection. "Do you know why?"

Hermione shook her head.

"They sense something in you, child," she told her. "Something I suppose they have not sensed in a very long time. Even if they do not notice it like the rest of the magic world, the Florae are still happy to present them with something that would question their natural order." she told her as they found their way back to the entrance. In the distance, they could just make out the fields to which hid them. Madam Maxime looked at them with a peculiar look of distaste before continuing. "It is that curiosity that keeps the wonderment from not aging. Given by the Muggle's sense of not interoperating anything that they know is true, they are able to force them to see things that would otherwise wouldn't be there."

"Like a glamour." Hermione nodded, understanding somewhat what she was saying. "If they allow you, you are able to see the world in which they live."

"In which _we_ live." her Madam corrected her with a smile. "It is our world as much as it is theirs. We just see if differently and act accordingly as to what we see. Muggles cannot see this magnificent thing we call magic; they fear it, they loath it, and with all honesty, they avoid it with all costs."

"But, it is everywhere." she tried to argue, baffled be the idea anyone would be so hateful toward a wonderful thing. "How is it possible that they are not able to see more than the Fae allow us to see? Is our world that much more powerful and unreachable?"

"It has nothing to do with the predictability that comes with reaching another realm but the sense of feeling comfortable and being accepted by the community that they tread." said the Madam. "Why else would I be able to live and walk the magic realm without repercussions?"

 _Because we are of the same essence._

"How is it you can walk on the same path as me?" she asked, nervous to learn what she was and where she hailed from. "What makes you so different and yet so feared?"

"Our ability to see things that normal human ought to ignore." she told her. "Our ability to do so has elicited some very negative attention and resentment to build up over the decades."

"Is that why people fear us? For what we are able to do?"

He nodded slowly, unable to form the words to justify what she could consider.

She broke a moment later.

A year later, she came to have the same conversation with the Madam, only this time the topic of choice was much darker than initially thought.

When she did not speak after the first initiation, the Madam took the initiative to speak. Taking a deep breath, she opened her heart in hope that she would understand what she wanted to express.

"Muggles are being targeted by a nefarious group of witches and wizard under the leadership of an unknown assailant." She paused to allow her to absorb the information before continuing. "For years they have been targeted and our Ministry has been trying to track them down and when we were able to infiltrate their ranks, we come to learn some incredible things about the group. Their beliefs are not for the faint of heart; they believe in the righteousness that Purebloods are the superior class and that those below them should submit to their whims."

Hermione pulled away, looked up at him and asked in a strained, weak whisper. "What does this have anything to do with us and what we are?"

"It has everything to do with it," she said without the slightest step of hesitation. She, too, had anticipated this topic. With every hour of every day, her eyes betrayed what she so desperately hidden. He wanted her to know. "The Florae have demonstrated many of their talents this evening, one of which opening the eyes of a young woman that normally kept them close."

"I-I do not understand." She shook her head as if she could comprehend her Headmistress' words by doing this menial task. Instead, it only alleviated a small portion of her confusion, yet there were still no answers to her questions.

"I am what I am, Hermione. I am a monster by normal declaration, but it is that ability to control magic that makes me a part of the sacred, magical world. What I represent, what is hidden inside the structure of my origin and blood would no doubt cause alarm among the Wizarding Community. It has in the past and will continue for decades to come. We do not represent the positive aspects of our kind but rather the unnaturalness that cannot be. Our magic is unstable and in its most basic form that if someone gets a hold of it, it could mean the end of not only our kind but the destruction of our world as we know it."

"What makes our blood so dangerous and sought after? Besides it being the basic form of anything known?"

"Our blood, our magic, can be constructed into anything in the natural world." Her madam said in a low tone. "Like that of a growing fetus, our blood can be darkened with impurities or enhanced with the light of the world." He paused for a moment before saying," There are not many of us, and our numbers are steadily depleting as we speak."

She let the words settle with her. Not wanting to catch her eye in the light of the glowing orbs that entrapped them, she turned her attention to the impending display that has yet to mark the end of a season and the birth of a new one.

There was something she yet to tell her. In fear, of course, she restrained. There were darker deities out there that would love to get their hands on their blood and magic. Well, if they could figure out how to perform the ancient ritual to do so and be able to wield the raw power that lies within. It was that sentimental drive that kept the lunatics in the world going; to wield that sort of raw, fundamental power only trusted by people who were deemed to be untrustworthy not only frightens those who seek power, but it also angers them. To think that the power that they so desperately crave is out there for the taking, it drives them mad with rage and resentment towards all that get one step closer to unlocking their secrets.

"It is not our blood that makes us who we are, but our actions." She turned to her and said. "As I have said in my letter, what we are made of does not necessarily make us whole. Who can be despicably tainted, but our actions can beg to differ. Our blood could be pure and demonstrated the harbored wickedness that lies within us. There are those who would rather see the destruction of every living thing before the realization that they have sinned ever crosses their minds. And, it is not just our blood, either. It is everything light that world can possibly offer."

"How do we go about protecting ourselves? Not just ourselves but those around us?"

Her Madam stared out in the opened field and sighed. Turning, he said," We follow the light. That is where our true beings lie and that is where we have strived since the dawn of time."

It was quite possibly that the Madam's words propelled her into holding sympathy for all of creation.

* * *

Hermione was making her way down the long corridor just off the heart of the academy one evening. Held to her breast was a volume she had checked out from the extensive collective within the library and as she hurried down the hall during her free time, she came across several stunning rooms. They fell in the section between the library and parlor where all studies and entertainment were drawn. It was during this trip that made her most curious; it was late in the morning and those in the House of Sournois were neck-deep in discussion with another mistress of the castle. It was her first glimpse of the truly haunting lineage that was the House. Madam McGonagall was a tyrant if Hermione ever saw one. With a stern expression, her eyes pulled into a tight bun and her glasses practically charmed against the bride of her nose, she looked delectably evil and it was with this reason that forced some of the girls in the class to lose faith.

This was the instant that she fell to realize the struggles of the dynamics and where her own views, as she had been neglectful to say that she did not belong in the house that the arrow had chosen. Although, it had been her own intuition and heart that placed her in Rouerie

"I cannot stand the detestable woman!" one managed to scream in absolute boredom. Hermione walked by the class and presented whomever could see her a warm smile. Through the crack, she could make out their lesson to be something of a challenge. Much like she had with Madam Hooch, their lesson involved concentration and deep need of personal fulfillment. They were trying to turn their precious pets (the whole of them ravens or malicious of the like) into glassware. It was a feat within itself and only proven to torment and enrage the girls instead of teaching them life-long valuable lessons, to which they ought to take to heart. Hermione wondered briefly if they truly were as despicable as others have claimed them to be.

Hermione had just taken her seat at the front of the class when Ginny exclaimed the words. She almost had the nerve to look at her with a wide, doe-eyed expression before deciding against it. Madam McGonagall was a tyrant, but she would not so readily agree with the girls even if the accusation was as accurate as it can come. Instead, she took out the tome she had purchased not too long ago and proceeded to read from where she last left off.

"Why can we not use the gnomes outside?" another said gloomily. From where she stood, she could see that the girl was staring at her pet with the look of worry. Tears had gathered in her eyes, and it took every bit of Hermione's own resolve not to break out in tears with her. The lesson was brutal as it was cruel. Who in their right mind could risk the life of their pet just to perform a simple spell? "They would prove more durable." She mumbled, dishearten.

"Madam McGonagall is a secret deviant." one said under their breath.

"One that finds pleasure in conflicting pain?"

Their courageous whispers did not fall entirely on deaf ears. Just as she passed the door, the woman of their musing came out of nowhere, a place that Hermione knew very well. Her ability to transform into a cat was remarkable. She hoped to be able to do just that someday, after her studies, of course. Until then, she remained envious.

From where she sat, she could make out a line of disagreeable magic that threatened to eclipse their partial development. The girls, dressed in the traditional hue of lovely spring blue, had taken an aura that Hermione could not place as it sent unfavorable shivers to race up and down her spine. If it had not been these horrid images, it was the fact she was not alone.

It was of peculiarity and within reasonable accusation that this creature was fashioned from her over imaginative mind. She had been seeing them for weeks and it was upon this instant she was able to get a clear visual of what their form was but before she could, it vanished, leaving her to stare unknowingly at the lively classroom and ponder her own state of mind.

"This is entirely too boring," Hannah said, stuffing her supplies underneath her book and laying her head upon the mess. "What is up with this weather?"

"If Ginny had not provoked…"

"Do not blame any of this on me, Miss Brown!" Hermione feared that her kindred spirit would prove to be too much once again and was quick to try to calm her.

"Ginny, please, calm yourself," she told her warmly. "I do not enjoy these lessons any more than you do"

"Says the bookworm."

A dark cloud came over her and she instantly closed her mouth. Sometimes, she was just too disagreeable! For someone to offer her help to her and have it rejected was the rudest thing she has ever experienced. On top of that she had called her that detestable name! Hermione did not speak again, even when in the corner of her eye she saw Ginny raise her wand up to the specimen she was practicing with, using all the wrong movements.

With little disturbance, Ginny pointed her wand at the pour creature and whispered the incantation. She had to bite her bottom lip from gasping aloud at her daring action. What happened next was just as frightening, if not fatal.

Before she could get into trouble herself, Hermione brought her attention back to her book but not without the repercussions of being an Animagus came into play.

The scene unfolded like anything she has ever witnessed. Slowly, trapped in a time loop of equal proportions that left every one of them speechless and out of breath. One feature of her adopted form began to change, morphing into another then another until her original status was restored and she was looking at Ginny with the look of absolute fury. In the pits of her eyes, fire swirled and Hermione was quick to catch the gasp that almost rolled from her lips.

"Do you find my lesson up to your standards, Ms. Weasley?" she asked, her tone very neutral despite her obvious agitation. "Perhaps I shall call your mother and inform her of two discrepancies' within a week of one another?"

Madam McGonagall stood with her arms folded almost too politely behind her back in front of Ginny's desk. Though big on words, she shrunk into her seat, not giving the woman the time of day as she busied herself with the menial task of waving her wand and transfiguring her small owl into a teacup. She said nothing, thus proving a point their Madam needed to make.

The message was relatively clear.

Midnight, _Pièce de désir **.**_

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 **Note:** _The Festival d'Automne_ is a festival celebrating the best of contemporary arts in Paris, spanning theatre, dance, music, visual art and cinema. Apart from its exceptional length (four months), The Festival d'Automne à Paris. Every year, from September to December, it presents over 50 events attracting an audience of more than 150,000. The festival has joined forces with leading arts institutions in Paris such as the _Pompidou Centre_ , _Théâtre de la Ville_ , the _Louvre_ and the National Opera House-Paris, and it also extends to leading venues in the outskirts of Paris. Its international program has become a dynamic force in artistic creation worldwide.

We find our girls traveling and being well literate with the functions of society and the arts. I chose to include a small festival in the work because it seemed to fit best that would allow be to transition to the village scene (as seen in both versions of the Beauty and the Beast movies).

When I travelled to Italy back in (?-laughs nervously) 2013, right before my Senior Year, we had just missed the festival held in Venice every year. However, we were able to see some of the street performers, who wore masks showcasing their elaborate culture.

 _Carnevale di Venezia_ can be found two ancient traditions: the Latin Saturnalia and the Greek Dionysian cults - major religious festivals involving the use of masks and symbolic representations. The Venice Carnival history and meanings take their cue from these traditions, recasting them for their own purposes: in the _Saturnalia_ **of ancient Rome** the social order was overturned and slaves and free citizens poured into the city to celebrate with music and wild dancing; in the **Greek Dionysia** processions and plays were intended to unite the human being with nature in a superior harmony, free of social conventions established by man.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I love how this chapter played out :) If anyone has read the prequel (despite the myriad of mistakes I'm sure there are) they would have found out a little about Hermione's heritage. I won't get into too much detail now since it'll become important later. The first scene was taken from something I wrote a long time ago, thinking it would be a perfect plot point in another work. I think it fits perfectly with the premise and I hope you do to!

While trying to figure out how to begin this chapter, the most wicked idea for the next couple of chapters came to mind. It was within my reason to integrate as much as the original storyline for the movie as well as the beautifully diverse descriptions of the book as much as I possibly could in this work. I think I found a way I can do it! You shall see :)

For some strange reason, my muse was begging me to write an exchange between Cormac and Hermione. I think y'all find some of Gaston's qualities in him. This is a very sexualized chapter. It occurs between some of the girls of the Academy that may look inappropriate, especially of for the time period. They partake in what our generation would say drugs and alcohol (magical versions of such substances, aside from the small wine the girls are able to steal). These recreational drugs will have a profound effect on them, having seen them get caught by their Headmistress toward the end of the night. Nonetheless, it will awaken something within Hermione.

This chapter prove to be the most challenging thing I've ever had to write aside from chapter six of Impetus. I wanted to include a scene between Hermione and Cormac, seeing as her days were infinitely numbered. I didn't want the first three/four chapters to feel like a never-ending story about the banter between the girls and Hermione's backstory, though. I had to rearrange the scenes several times in order for the flow to be just how I wanted it. I hope it doesn't take away from the storyline, which has yet to unfold. I did promise y'all a long chapter this round, but it's with my deepest apologies that I wasn't able to own up to the promise (I did add quite a lot to chapter two after editing!) You'll see Cormac and Hermione's exchange in a later chapter.

I do hope it didn't prove to be disappointing!

If y'all would be so kind, please leave a review. Thank you all so much!

-Carolare Scarletus


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/n down below_**

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.~.

Beauty is Beast

Chapter Four

.~.

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 **October 4** **th** **, 1746**

The Midnight Quartet of strings did not sound as it usually did. A simple disarming charm had been placed along the halls earlier that evening on their way to supper, ensuring them safe passage through their escapades of the holy night. The girls, led by the darkness, raised their wands cautiously against the deceptive nothingness that was their home, and treaded with caution. Beauxbatons was abnormally still; without its usual cheerfulness and utterance of words, it seemed almost lost as they waved their way through disarmingly dark holds. The halls, once lively with laughter and boisterous play, had grown cold, extinguishing all hope that was naturally preserved in the foundation of their beloved home. Not a single sound transgressed the Halls after the Twelfth hour, and though presumably thought to be the calmest time of the night, was wrought with loud noises, whispers, the sound of shuffling feet, and the soft glow of a blue torch emanating from a wand as it broke away from the dark.

Darkness received them with open arms. The trio journey down the darkening hallway of the manor, unaware of the trailing presence of an enemy as they commanded the night. Hermione kept a careful eye on her sisters, never once relinquishing the unbreakable gaze. As they walked, the skin of her exposed arms saluted to the coldness. The prickling feeling marched noticeably up her arms, across the expanse of her breast, and the nape of her neck. Stunned by the sudden drop in temperature, he paused long enough to take in the usually habitual surroundings of his home. Countless times in the past she has journeyed these abandoned halls like the transient soul of a graveyard. So, entangled with the darkness, she failed to notice that there had always been some sort of commander lurking shadow in the ranks of the night. Whatever it was, it provoked even Hermione's more irrational senses to avert its gaze, and ignore it until a more suitable time presented itself. Only then, she would indulge it and relinquish the thrashing hold he had on it.

As Hermione pulled away from the questionable surroundings, the girls turned an unexpected right, leading into a smaller section and hallway with only a single row of doors. Hardly unknowledgeable about the secret passageways of their school, seeing she was one of the ones to set them up much to his mother undying disapproval since she was prone to getting lost from time to time- he was surprised to find that he took _this_ route to wherever his destination was. Being the sole contributor to the hidden hallways, the winding detours around the manor, only he could give permission to an outsider. She found it a little odd that he would know exactly when to turn, how to maneuver his way down these passageways without sounding an alarm. His permission even surpassed his father and mother substantially. Still, permission was permission. While their intentions were still unclear, it did not frighten or scare her in the least. She was determined to find out what he was doing in his home, where she was going, and who they were going to meet. -Edit this, ugh-

Whispers echoed down the deserted corridors, reverberating back the gripping silence.

Twilight fell rather quickly over the little village of Pyrenees, and during their journey, the girls watched as the men made the long way across the lawn from the windows, and into the secured sanctuary of their campsite, as they have been doing for months. A nasty hailstorm made a hast charge over their school. Before night dawned on them, Zeus' soldiers came to lay claim on the earth one more, trampling all warriors in the mud, and leaving behind the telling signs of the rough reprimandations of war. There, they heard the thunderous celebration and the raillery of another day gone. Ginny had the naughty idea to plant a listening device on one of the men, as she had feigned dizziness and tricked them into believing she may faint. Upon catching her, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked it inside his clothing. That was some months ago, and ever since they had captured every moment of their departure.

The men were interesting, to say the least. Even Hermione, one of the few girls with her head attached to her shoulders, and not in the clouds, began pleasantly surprised by their conversation. With only a handful of months guarding their secret, she has grown to enjoy exploiting the stone in which Ginny used to spy on them.

It was a first for her.

Throwing all reverie to the wind, Hermione focused on her coordination; she would not displease their Madam now with her atrocious steps, knowing that she could very well be watching and come to reprimand them for their bravery for treading the cursed halls of night. Hermione breathed out, watching the world pass in a mass of shadows to towering reaches; she has become lost in their treacherous arms before, having once found herself on the other side of the Unknown. Never in her dreams could she envision such astounding sights; their school truly did have many sides to its growing guises. She did not know which she preferred, having found another mask to adore, cementing the growing admiration of the world in which she lived.

"Oh, these blasted shoes!" hissed Hannah, trying to disguise her anguish.

"Shh!" someone called from behind the line. "We must not make a sound! Madam Maxime might be listening."

"That may be true… She did seem to be in one of her moods during class, as did Madam McGonagall."

"That is because Ginerva provoked her."

"Watch it," a hiss issued out.

Hermione inevitably ran into the body in front of her, nearly dropping her wand in the process. Huffing with aggravation, she straightened herself, only to find the face of her enemy through the pitch-black abyss. Ginerva had been perfectly clear with her instructions earlier that day; though, it was this sort of frantic foolery that worried her the most. Although skeptical, Hermione readily agreed for their meeting in their private room despite the grossing anxiety that something would ago amiss.

She had been slumbering peacefully in her chamber when the sound of giggles erupted like soft incantations outside of her room, rousing her from her deep slumber. Curious to see whom it may be, she snatched her wand from her nightstand, shuffled her bare feet into her slippers, before tucking on a chemise robe and walking to her door. Her long, curly hair had been braided by one of the girls an hour before she departed from their company, having given them the assumption that she wanted to read before retiring for the night. Little did she know, they were planning far more than met the eye. Once she opened the door, she was whisked away and rounded up with the other girls of Rouerie, and to their secret dwelling deep within the deceptive halls of Beauxbatons.

The girls passed a large Italian glassed window, which overlooked the gardens and the impressive preserve of mystic creatures, magicked by their Headmistress as to allow the Muggles to believe that nothing was out of the ordinary. They peeked through the window, admiring the vastness of their school grounds before ducking their heads down and running away, giggling. In a flurry of brightly colored, they escaped.

"Do forgive me," mumbled Tonks as she desperately tried to adjust her wand. The scorching light at the tip pierced the visible darkness, but did little to benefit their cause. Through the blinding light, Hermione was able to map out the precise location of their travels. Somehow, they landed somewhere in the middle of an opened hall, and if anyone were there to see them, they would have been caught red-handed.

"I do hope you are," came Hannah's dark remark, the slightest mention of hiss leaving her lips. "I shall not have you stepping on my feet again, Nymphadora!"

Tonks whipped around so quickly that her naturally-hue colored hair turned into the scorching shade of fire. Hermione held her breath, looking around anxiously before pulling on her elbow and whispering in her ear.

"Ladies, do behave yourself!" she pleaded with the girl, watching as her hair flared up violently, before the embers died down to a calm decrescendo. "Miss Hannah did not mean it, did you?"

The two girls turned to the dark-haired sister, reading her expression. A smile formed on her lips, and she quickly apologized for her daring outbreak.

"Do forgive me!"

Tonk's hair did not turn back to its natural shade, though Hermione found forgiveness in her eyes, and she took it as a sign to keep walking.

"You do have a way with wild animals," whispered Hannah, looking to Tonks passively, reading her aura as if it was a tangible proclamation of how the girl was feeling. "Creatures like her should not exist."

"Why, dear Fleur is one of those remarkable creatures." Hermione reminded her earnestly. "Should she not exist?"

"I-"

"I would consider you words more carefully from now on, Hannah." The brilliant girl said, her eyes growing dark. Hannah nodded, taking a step back without a single word. The girls pressed through the dark in utter silence.

Hermione pulled away from the girl, her words echoing disturbingly in the air, like a menacing apparition of truth shrouded in mystery. As long as she has known them, the girls were quick to criticize anyone of questionable lineage, including herself. Although it was quite the brooding mystery of where she came from, the memories of her past still held true; there were some things in this world she would like to delude herself that she would eventually forget, while other's will continue to have a lasting imprint on her journey through life. Whether good or bad, it ultimately shaped her into the witch she was today, and would continue to do so until her dying days.

Hermione only wished that some of the girls could see it through her eyes.

The truth could be destructive and awful. Hannah hardly seemed like the type to judge, but that didn't guarantee her acceptance of the concealed and hidden world in which Hermione lived. There were things that were not meant to be so easily ascertained or left vulnerable, and opened to public viewing. She knew from experience that most people in society are unforgiving, so critical, and relentless in their pursuit to strip someone of their identity and moral code. What identity they were able to procure for themselves were always questioned with such austerity, that sometimes the person learned to believe the lies and adopts some of those sacrilegious ideals. Not that she knew anyone who ever lost themselves in any of the deceitful, hateful words thrown at them, but it would not come as a surprise if _someone_ in the world did. Hermione prayed that it never happened to her, after all she knew exactly what _she_ was, what her _parents_ were. There was no _denying_ it.

The word resonated deeply within her as she said goodbye to Andrea. A small flourishing blossom of animosity and disgust had planted itself deep within her heart, growing steadily until she pushed those unbearable thoughts from her mind. She did not feel any less than a human knowing what she was because there just wasn't any shame. She didn't even have to accept herself for what she was even if others had a harder time adjusting the unpleasant truth. For years she's had to deal with it. Deal with the torment, the taunts, and the jeers; if it hadn't been the loyalty and the acceptance of her closest friends, she didn't know where she would have ended up. She had an inkling: lonely, afraid to go out in the world with the confidence of a young woman her age should possess. Not many could say that they held such high standards and morals like hers. That's a part of the reason she's never been with anyone other than Ron, which failed miserably, and proving once and for all that they were only meant to be friends, and nothing more. With a sigh, she contemplated exactly what she wanted in a man before all her thoughts were pulled into discourse and chaos.

There was no _hiding_ it.

Even she, someone of great stature, was not all that she appeared.

"I meant no harm," Hannah breathed, joining Hermione as they marched graciously down the corridors, turning a right at the intersection. "I did not think anyone would take offense."

Hermione looked at the girl with consideration. "You may be under Ginerva's spell, but I will not tolerate you speaking ill of anyone precious to me."

"Speaking of precious persons, have you gotten word from the twins?"

"I do hope they are well," she whispered, treading carefully and sticking close to the girl next to her. It was a secret that she was slightly wary of the dark, something that she would do well to keep from the other girls for certain betrayal was imminent if they knew.

"To whom are you referring to?" inquired Nymphadora as she busied herself with the menial task of guiding the small group down the corridor. She, too, was under the surmise of sleep when there was a loud sound coming from her chamber door. Though, she was more inclined to listen to the hysteria that was her Housemate's voices, and almost fell back to sleep before another bout of raucous knocking came to her bedchamber door. Ginerva's haunting voice echoed in Hermione's mind, reminding her of just how powerful the witch's words could be. The two witches dropped their conversation of proper greetings, knowing that the other could easily figure it out.

"The Patil's." The courteous girl said simply. "I have grown to miss their presence. When do you think they will return?"

"If you seek an honest opinion…" started Hannah, but Tonks was quick to stop her.

With a smile, her hair turned into the pleasant shade of a young rose before she spoke softly. "I am certain they are enjoying their stay, and would want nothing more to come home." came her soothing reply.

The Patil sisters were currently visiting family in a remote village in Bangladesh, having received a letter a month earlier of their grandmother's sudden illness. They immediately dropped their courses, spoke to the Headmistress, and were granted a two-week employment to their home village to aid in the recovery of their relative. Through their stay, their owls sent word through a vertiginous ritual of letters, stating their personal effects and the state of their grandmother. They were expected to arrive back any day now, and Hermione, especially, was growing anxious for their return.

Hermione lifted her arm, watching as the light from her wand grow exceedingly brilliant. Astonished, she watched as the soft brilliance of her wand illuminated far more than her eyes could see. Even the other girls were impressed by its luminosity.

"Does Ginny plan to seek entrance into the Unknown?"

"I cannot say," Hermione obliged them with a reply. "I do hope she is not. The last time we tried to provoke the spirits, the awakening was quite rude."

"The repercussions would not be as dire…"

"I would like to see the light of day, sister." Hermione sighed, somehow being chosen to lead the group. "I do wonder which curtain would rise…"

"Are you speaking of the _Pièce de désir_?"

"Of course, what other palace would I be referring to?" Then, she paused. "Remind me again, which way is it?"

Just before someone could answer, a voice came to them like a purely premonition of Fate. There, just around the corner, an enemy was lurking. The girls quickly ducked behind a tapestry, inclining their heads as to allow them to listen to the retreating footsteps of their follower. A gasp issued from one of their lips, but before Hermione could ascertain who had broken the silence, someone spoke.

" _C'est qui?_ "

" _C'est_ _tête de fille_!"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered urgently.

"What is she doing out so late?" hissed Tonks, her hair transitioning into the exact color of tar. "Quickly, let us make our escape before she sees us!"

The girls, who hurriedly tried to conceal themselves behind the curtains, were now anxious to get away. Causing more harm than good, their voiced carried down the corridors, stopping short of where the mysterious figure stood. The girl's gently tore back the smooth material of the drapes and discovered something so unlike all the others.

Hermione held her breath as their Head of House elegantly stride down the hall and out of sight. Just as they were about to break away from the safety of the curtain, they were discovered.

"Where do you think you are going?" a voice called out to them. The girls turned, finding their executioner.

"Sister Eloise!" Hannah breathed, falling over her feet and grasping the unforgiving curtain to break her fall. Tonks was pulled down with her, Hermione soon following their disgraceful act. Eloise only stared at the girls as they struggled to stand and right themselves.

"What are you three doing out of bed?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "I am sure you all know that is way past curfew."

"As we are aware," Tonks said bitterly, desperately trying to find a suitable excuse as to why they were roaming the halls this late at night.

"Well, what is your excuse this time, girls?"

Hannah and Tonks looked to Hermione for help. Their pleading eyes, as she has known all along, would be her undoing.

Quickly, she thought of a good remark to give their Head Girl. "We were… exploring. Right, girls?"

"Oh, yes," said Hannah hastily, nudging Tonks in the side.

"Exploring?" Eloise raised an elegant brow. "At this time of night? For what purpose?"

"For Madam McGonagall's lesson, of course." Hermione continued to lie. "She spoke of an endearing bit of information during our lesson with her that was most astounding, to say the least. As you may know, Eloise, the Florae is only weeks away, and we were only trying to watch them as they busied themselves with the chores of their season. They are quite mischievous, if you ask me. And, quite inclined to aid anyone who desires to watch and speak to them."

"The Florae are do not easily partake in pleasantries such as conversation." The girl quipped, not believing for a second that this was the reason they were up so late.

Hermione scoffed. "That is the true wisdom of someone who has never basked in their glorious light. Tell me, Eloise, are you troubled, or are you naturally this oblivious and unbelieving?"

"You insolent little-"Eloise raised her hand to slap her, but another came out and thwarted her attempt to do harm.

"Vat are you doing?" The French native asked, her eyes remaining the same impassive hue. "I vill not tolerate you causing harm to another."

"I…I was doing my rounds when I found these three, Fleur." Eloise said scathingly, turning to the beauty. "I am pleased that you are here. I just found some of the girls in your house out of bed!"

Fleur looked to Eloise before saying, "Zat does not give you ze right to stike another, sister Eloise." She paused as to allow her words to settled before speaking again. "I shall take care of zem. Go back to your rounds."

"But-"

"Zey are in my House, and under my care. It es my responsibility to ensure zar safe return. I shall speak to Ze Headmistress in ze morning of their exploration, and your horribly misuse of your powers. Go, before we all get caught!"

"Fleur, please reconsider!"

Fleur looked at her. Her eyes shined brilliantly, capturing the moonlight path exceptionally well. Eloise fell into a trance, her eyes growing wide as she found it difficult to breath. Seconds ticked by, and as quickly as the spell had been casted, the hold on her relented.

Eloise perked up, bid them farewell, and scurried away. The girls watched, stunned, at the retreating form of their Head of House. Tonks was the first to address the French native, crediting her feverishly with aiding in their cause.

"I do not suppose that is one of your _Grand-mère's_ traits?"

" _C'est_ ," she said pleasantly. "Now, vill you tell me why you were out dis way?"

"We got lost!"

"Ginerva has spoken to me. Ze meeting is tonight, _non_?"

"Is Miss Ginerva already there?" Hannah asked, bouncing. "Oh! If Eloise had not distracted us! I was not thinking of the room at all."

"Shall we go around three more times?" suggested Tonks.

"Zat will not be necessary." Fleur motioned them to follow her, having found a way to their destination. "Et will be my third time. Follow me."

The girls were quick to form a strong line behind their leader.

"Oh, I thought she would never leave!"

"Quickly, before she comes back!"

The girls hurried from their spot, ran down the corridor, and into the adjoining one before coming to a fall halt in front a lovely portrait of a woman and her daughter. Slowly their pace, they all let out hearty sighs. Just when they thought they were safe, the sound of galloping footsteps echoed down the hall.

Fleur listened for a moment, before telling them, "Remember, Rêve, et tu recevras." She turned, and led them quietly down the corridor.

The chariot that guided them came with poor reception; the girls did not conceal the detest for such escorts, only having discovered the equally deplorable roads in which they travelled. Tall doors, isolated venues, and fascinating sculptures could not bring them to understand, or even gawk at the wonders that this world provoked. It was only in the giving nature of their beloved room that they were able to allow such imaginary revolution to blossom, and it was only then they were able to conduct in the extraordinary nature in which was presented to them. The girl's held their tongues, hoping that the gem in which they sought would still before there for their taking. As they walked, something alerted their attention. This time, the energy of their guest did not warrant a reprieve.

Hermione could not make out a clear picture of the individual, though she was inclined to believe that their presence was not welcomed. Her eyes flickered to the many portraits; they had woken from their nightly ritual of sleep, finding their own exploration of the castle unbinding and as it was curious. Feeding off her own unusual energy for the peculiar, Hermione motioned to her sisters to follow her, having been driven and coaxed by an otherworldly deity to investigate.

"Do you think it is wise?" Hannah asked. "Ginny will be expecting us soon. I did tell her we would not be late."

"I believe they are going in the direction in which our room lies," Hermione told them. "And, what better way to start the night then this? Come, girls. We shall make haste across the halls of our school, and find what it is that they are searching for."

"What if they intend to find our treasured room?"

"Then, we shall stun them."

Hannah's demeanor, she noticed then, had changed dramatically. No longer did she have a blithe vibe about her. The normally conversational young woman had been replaced with someone of mourning. A former replica of herself, Hannah walked with her eyebrows strung together in deep thought, her eyes solely fixated on the tremendous apprehension that was now being passed around the girls like candy. Hatred ignited like a sweet cinnabar of fire in her hazel eyes, but there was something different about them as well. Like a veil or a curtain consisting of a thick, heavy material, it obscured the light that just minutes ago had shown so brightly. Somehow, they had lost their luminance, leaving nothing but an atramentous cloud to absorb the light within her eyes.

In the ephemeral moment when they crossed the threshold of the temporary lake of hellfire, Hermione's entire world had crashed down upon her. Tonks and Hannah did not look as if they desired to follow whomever was treading the corridors at this late hour. Not having the critical time to reflect, to cool herself off as she usually did, Hermione's temper began to flare like that of the sun on its most temperamental moment. Balling her hands into fists, she listened as the unknown intruders attempted to heave themselves into a standing position, but without luck. Not even the strained groan coming from their lips, the bruising the was sure to form around his throat, nor the punishment he was going to get after his attendance with their Headmistress could not appease the girls; intrudes, simply, were not welcomed here. With a rapacious sigh, Hermione removed herself from their hiding spot, walking arrogantly down the long corridor of their school, and away from the safety that would invoke her attention.

"We must see where they are going," Hermione finally told them. "It is our duty!"

"Ginerva will be so displeased…" begged Hannah wishfully, staying close to Hermione. "If she were to find out…"

"Is it too late to turn back?"

"She will not find out." Hermione hissed. "It will be our little secret. Besides, do you not want to find out where they are going?"

"And, risk getting caught? No thank you, sister. I would rather tread back and seek sanctuary elsewhere."

"You two do not have a single courageous bone in your bodies." The girl sighed. "Come on. I shall face the consequences if they should arise."

"Ginny was right about her…. She is quite peculiar," whispered Tonks.

How _dare_ she speak to her in such a way! Even if they were nothing more than sworn enemies thanks to fate's cruel, perverse joke, she expected Ginny to show some level of respect towards her, even if she was not there to receive it. How dare she even utter that disgusting word in her presence! Had they no shame? Apparently not, Hermione thought scathingly. Ginny had been in the same ship as her. She's had to deal with the same exact thing she was going through with now: an extraordinary sense of displacement that resided in the rivaling heart that was opposite of her own. There was something so unattainable and deliciously decadent that she could only fantasize the taste of freedom, the sound of belonging, and the unspoken words that would never be said to one another. A dark, forbidden fantasy or realty neither of them could indulge in. Unlike Ginny, whose cowardliness was unrivaled even by someone whose deepest fear was spiders had not pushed beyond the boundaries of her dreams, testing them until the iron fence weakened, and she was able to push through triumphantly had not achieved what she had: _indulging in her fantasy_. Years Ginny has wasted away, missing chance after chance until the final one crept up on her, and the unforeseeable end embraced the muse she loved. Had she expressed it earlier, would she have obtained her dream? Hermione wondered briefly, until her own needs demanded her attention.

Maybe, they were not as close as she initially thought. Ginerva had done nothing to strengthen their relationship, and neither did she. But, unlike her counterpart in their endless attempt for acceptance, Hermione had done something differently. She had not tried to show-off in front of her because she was not that impressionable, and the situation just would not allow such a foolish attempt at peacocking. Instead, she stayed in the background, watching her, protecting her, standing up for her, until she soothed whatever demon that resided inside of her, so she could sleep better at night. Knowing that she did that for her beloved means, and for once she felt truly happy.

If they only knew, she thought miserable as they came to the end of the corridor, turned left and kept walking. The anger was still at an elevated rate, but as Hermione continued down the path toward west wing of the school, her thoughts turned abruptly to a conversation almost lost to the dwellings churning within. She just could not stop her mind form gravitating once again to the outrageous news. Even with the acclamation of Gideon Flatworthy's raids across Britain and the destruction of their world's creation, the looming presence of something dark, and the spark of anger that licked her like flames, she still found some tranquility while treading the halls in the heart of night.

It was then after thinking about him that she came to a starling conclusion.

The world in which they lived was not all that it seemed. They were treading in dark times; people had grown wary, almost frantic, and the only spoilable source of protection came from the inconceivable notion that true evil existed, even in the most damnable of times. Discovering yet another surprising display occurring just beyond her reach, Hermione called wordlessly to her wand, preparing herself for the words.

"I do not what it is that you saw, Hermione, but it is best that we head back."

"Come, Hannah," cooed the girl gently. "It would only take a-"

" _Shh!_ " Tonks implored.

Several men stood clustered together in a tight embrace, each whispering frantically to each other just down the corridor. Tucking as close as they could to the walls, the girls watched and listened for any other signs of treachery. Low, hushed rumbles reverberated oddly against their bodies as two of them departed the group, walking away from the last remaining man, who stood with his hands in his pressed trousers, his eyes fixated down the hall, took flight in the opposite direction. Weaving her eyebrows together, Hermione backed away long enough to watch as the man pressed his left palm against the surface of the deep crimson oak door. A string of unfamiliar incantations swirled around the room in a visual display of deep purple, dark gray, and black. Whatever he had been whispering underneath his breath was brought to a terribly crescendo as the cloudy of dark magic penetrated the strong wood, causing a large crack to form from the top of the door before the magic seeped into the cut as well, sealing it. Hermione watch in languor, but slight intrigue as the man finished whatever humorous prank he was trying to pull. He surmised a grin, watching as the Dark Magic evaporated into thin air, leaving the door to his study seemingly untouched.

The man walked away seconds after catching it. After a moments delay, Hermione decided to follow him, not bothering to ensure that her sisters were following her.

Silencing the sound of her steps, she quickly hurried down the hall. Seconds later, she found that he stopped at another door, this time making quick work of the doorknob as if to enter.

Hermione, just as the doors were about to close on her, dispelled a larger amount of magic, willing it to surround the entire room in a hue of dark purple. Since she knew it would be too tempting and dangerous to go into the room and take a seat on one of the lounge chairs, she let the door slam softly behind the man, knowing that the emblem placed on him would ensure her observation. Quietly, she felt his magic envelope the room, stretching across the span of the small study until almost every corner was covered in an iridescent glow. As soon as it was, she urged her magic to vanish. Now, she would be able to see and hear everything that went on inside the room. Hermione closed her eyes, tuning into the familiar expanse of their Madam's study. Within seconds, she was brought into the room, her senses merging away from mute world where her body stood with a veil of magic protecting her and into the room where their Madam would have sat if she were there. She looked up just as the door closed softly behind the unwanted guest.

"I assume that it all went well?" he asked, raising a finely shaped eyebrow. He was shallowly old man with greying hair.

His guest smiled. "Of course," he relayed the good news. "I performed the spell exactly as you instructed."

"Excellent," he leaned back in his cushioned chair, and exhaling sharply before gathering himself and stood up. "Did anyone follow you?" the man asked as he ventured over longue chairs in the middle of the room. He signaled for him to sit down. As the man walked over to the sitting area in front of the massive desk, the man took his wand out of his walking cane, flicked it once, aiming it towards the other side of the room. The man sat, watching as two glasses, a bottle of brandy, and a bucket of ice came hurtling towards them. With a wry grin, he accepted the offered drink.

"No one, my lord," he replied with a smile. He brought his glass to his lips and took a sip of the warm liquid before setting in on the table in front of him. "I was very discreet with my maneuvers. I never suspected that there would be so many unused passageways inside the school."

The mysterious man's jaw tightened. "Yes, well, I assume that is the doing of the Headmistress. It seems the days of childish behaviors have long since stopped. I am surprised to hear that some of the secret passageways are still being used. Did you have trouble finding the study? Have you indulged in any sort of company with her? She is quite the firecracker, and some of her girls are not without blame."

He nodded, "Yes, I got lost several times, I admit." He leaned back in his chair, taking in the room momentarily before his eyes trailed back to the man of the manor. "You never said the Madam had a taste for exploration. Care to expand on that idea?"

It appeared that he did not want to speak of all the pranks the Madam performed during his more youthful, more playful years. "He had always been an adventurous woman." He said painfully, his heart throbbing inside his chest. He did not want to speak ill of the Headmistress. "She invited me to stay as to allow the school to be blessed. I cannot say if it will ensure the safety of the school, or the girls. But, how could I deny an old friend that peace of mind?"

"Is that why you called me out here?"

The man nodded soberly. "It is not within my nature to care for others, but with the uprising, I cannot rightfully justify the complete abandonment of my peers."

"Is that what happened?"

"Indeed," the man whispered. "These are dark times that we live in. My only condolence is that I fear that it will be the end of all that we cherish."

"That does not sound like a man that has given up hope." The man leaned over, picked up an olive that was in one of the many crystal bowls that was displayed pleasingly before him. He sat up, giving him a look that he interpreted as _''there is more.'_

"As you know, Gideon's platoons have seized the neighboring villages near the mountains in Italy. I suspect, in the coming months, his charity will have gained valuable resources and contributors. You know, the King of England is calling for an all-out war if Gideon's efforts to cleanse the Wizarding World is not thwarted? Some even surmise to say that he is conspiring with him, but all those have proven to be just rumors."

"But, what if they are not?" asked the man, the air between them growing heady with each passing moment. The two men stared at one another, immersed by the notion that the King of England could be in alliance with Gideon. If it were true, then he would face not only the calamity of a World War, but the questionable notion of his alliances as it lied elsewhere. No one had ever dared suspected that the crazed man's forces had travelled that far since his last announcement in the _Prophet_ some months ago. The Royals have done away with the anarchy once before, and whose to say they cannot find a way to do it again?

These were dark times, indeed.

Only dominated by the implications of one's beliefs, Hermione did not think they stood a chance at defeating Gideon's advances, no matter how thought-out they were. It was painfully obvious by her observation of the matter that their Madam was keeping more than she would admit from them. Hermione's eyebrow wove together. It truly hurt her that she could not find it in her heart to trust them. It made her that more determined to fight. Any governing person would stand and fight, and Hermione knew that it took more than the courage bestowed to them to want to do just that. Though, it looked what Gideon was doing was unethical, it was the same exact treatment the World has been given for thousands of years. Why skip tradition, she may have suspected if the situation was not so dire. Even these men knew what he had done was completely and irrefutably wrong. What he made his followers go through was nothing compared to what he would have done if the World had not been so compelled to fight. It could not be conquered; they had tried desperately to stop him from harming their loved ones only to have some unknown pain sweep over them as if some unseen force was ripping apart their souls from their bodies, and their heart from their chests.

All Hermione knew was that Gideon had been forced to do something so unforgiveable, something no one deserved to undergo. She remembered as vividly as the day he did it the tortured looked that encompassed the group once the news of the deceased came to be known. No one dared speak, or even rise to the occasion of exacting revenge. The walls were carelessly listening; the corridors were strewn with silence previously unbeknownst to them that, once Hermione found the heart to question it, she was faced with nothing but heartache herself, for it had been the parents she would never know that perished during the climax of Gideon's reign. Hermione had given him, the blood of her innocence spilling from the deep lacerations on her body, and for a split second, she was able to feel what all the Fallen had felt. The blood thirsty beast had been so dishonorably wanton for it. Hermione had never been so sickened, so repulsed by the cursed being that resided dormant inside. No matter how hard she fought, the dark spell would sweep over her administrating harsher punishments, more pain, and torture until it got her to do what it asked and begged for. And when he did, it still did not halt its torture. Hermione had fought alongside them, and in return, was punished when she tried to deviate in return.

No one could defeat even the deepest of urges tainting his soul. This- _curse_ , this- _thing_ would not allow for it to happen. The more they talked, the more she was punished by the deplorable thoughts of the Unknown. Eventually, she allowed whatever demented thing that resided so naturally inside the hearts of many to take control of her, thinking that her total obedience would earn some leniency

In that instant, she became utterly sick.

Hermione pulled away from the scene too quickly for her liking, and the scene spiraled uncontrollably for a few seconds before settling on the dimly lit corridor. Someone was calling for her. In the distance, she could just make out the terror in which her little spell caused. As she tried to obtain some sort of normalcy, her head began to throb. She began more warped by the idea that someone was trying to harm them, and it was only intensified by the very suspicious spell placed on their door. She had every right to feel that way. Their own Headmistress was planning on deluding them. In the moments of her illness, she was unable to find the answers she was searching for. As she became one with his body a burning sensation ignited. The kindling licks of scorching heat travelled down her head, up her feet, immigrating to one isolated are of her arm to the entirety of her body. The intolerable heat began to eat away at her flesh, veins, and bone. Gripping her head, Hermione urged for it to go away, fighting it with all her strength. As she did, the blistering heat began to grow until some unexpected happened. She was burning. She did not like the way the flames caressed his skin, the way it licked her flesh so passionately and with affection she had never felt. Eager for it to stop, she continued to fight it.

She looked to her sisters, and confirmed her mounting guilt.

The flames were consuming them all.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** *Peeks from behind the curtain of 2017*

I do hope y'all aren't to terribly mad at me! But, Happy New Year! I haven't abandoned this work quite yet (Not that I was going to, anyway). One of my New Year's Resolutions is to finish some of my works. I'm not certain how long this one will be, but Fated to be Ours is on that list, as well as several others!

Anyway, if you don't mind, will you tell me your thoughts on this chapter? *bats eyelashes* I would make my day! :)

 _As always, enjoy_

-Carolare Scarletus

* * *

 **Important Notes:**

 _ **Grand-mère's**_ _: Grandmother's_

 _ **C'est:**_ _It is_

 _ **Non:**_ _No_

 **Rêve, et tu recevras :** Dream, and you shall recieve.

 **tête de fille** : Head Girl (More or less)

* * *

 **Future Events/ Things to Follow :** The Room of Desire Hermione tells the girls what transpired in this chapter while under the influence of her magic and the girls contemplate what war would mean for them.

Sir Cormac McLaggen tries to court Hermione, inviting her to the festival held every year in the village.


End file.
